. 'as for those poets, only the perverse follow them. do you not see that they go too far in every direction and say things, which they cannot do?' (ash-shu'ara / the poets 26:224-226).

call them what you like,
the Huguenots,
for all i care...

   you always side with
the "heretics"...
  
   given that, "said" heretics
retain some cultural value
relativism of other cultures,
namely in the form of
depiction -

    since why would, "the word"
be deemed holy,
    ****-naked,
                rather than donning
a bikini of "iconoclasm"...
         when words... are at
the meat-market of copyright -
what with © coca cola?

                 sunni islam would have
never allowed sufism...
  but Farsi does...
  and will continue...
since no Iranian will bow
before an Arab within the schematics
of history...

          Sunni Islam, it's Wahhabi sentimentality...
so why persist in signing
the Adhan?
   why not speak in a honing like
drone sentiment of plain speech?
i thought all music was banned?
the current Adhan is a form
of music... isn't it? BAN IT!

    you never side with these Sunni
muslims, exploiting Bangladeshi labor,
you side with the heretics of Iran...
these *******, i can at least respect...
  
      no fast cars, convenient ongoing
cultural insurrections -
   Sufism...
       Afghan women's poetry,
and all that much closer to Hindu mysticism...
    
yeah... "islamophobia":
but only against Sunni Islam...
   but Shia Islam?
   no problem...
   i could stomach these peoples
like i could stomach the in-between
of the Turkish variant -
no ideology - simply, pure, power throttle...

i could make a great Janissary -
with a Turkish barber...
         for a great trim of hair and beard...
i'd cast a shadow on some
obscure chocolatier of Brussels
who thinks himself a politician...

     but there are certain aspect of Islam
i am willing to tolerate...
   what happened to the son in law
of Muhammad, namely, Ali...
was raw ******* kicking...

               promises, promises...
no promises...
           Shia Islam, as an European,
i can tolerate, Turkish Islam, i can tolerate...
Turkey is incrementally shy
of being treated at the 2nd variant of Iran...
at least with Iran, we share a history
via the insurrection into the ancient
texts through Greece...

  come to think of it...
whenever i listen to
matta's song echo babylon...
i start feeding myself goosebumps,
reminding myself
of Cyrus... Nebuchadnezzar...
and the dim-wit that was
   Belshazzar...

always siding with the heretics...
if not on economic groundwork,
then at least motivating,
rather than monetizing an idea...

and the Shia muslims are...
    one way or another...
   unlike the gluttons of Dubai...
the barbie dolls of postage stamp
"proof" of progress,
in size, and worth...

   Sunni Islam would have
never allowed poetics to remain
a viable form of expression -
the Persian tradition that is,
far beyond the western concern
for a comment section...

         Shia Islam allows patronage
of the arts, notably poetry,
without concern for monetary
funding, it, at least, doesn't prohibit it...
given the pride of the Persians...
Sunnis and their continual quest
for finding water...
    sure... poetry is pointless within
such restrictions of
existential concerns...
    but... given the current, civilized
establishment?
   sky-scrapers in *******
sand dunes?

         the qu'ran should have
forbidden the architectural ambitions
equivalent to the tower of babel
being erected, in environments,
that could never sustain said projects...

    and who originally spewed the term
islamophobia?
Sunni Islam...
        i never liked this strand of belief...
i hate the Sunnis like
a Shia partisan...

p.s. it's called patriotism is America...
but nationalism in Europe...
    you sure that's not a synonym?
Europeans can't be patriotic,
and Americans are never nationalistic?

...

   well: how could i ever convert to islam,
i do enjoy the adhan from time to time,
"sorry", but i do...
  i can't help it:
if i'm a sucker for pop songs,
i'm also a sucker for the adhan...
   crusader songs, templar songs become
stuffy after a while...
and last time i checked:
     there were the northern crusades
against the baltic people:
notably prussians, lithuanians...
with that cushion of: mediating the
escalation of war by the polacks...
coming from the east:
  last time i checked the mongols
didn't reach leipzig...
               buffer zone people...
and what of the ottoman onsalught
of vienna 1529: the ****** winged hussars
won the charge...

so, coming back to heidegger... aphorism 26
ponderings IX... how am i to not be
the historical animal?
         perhaps in german, in germany
i might become a non-historical animal,
to begin: anew, but with a terrible
past to hide, to negate...
   i could do that: if i were a german,
speaking german, in germany...
but i'm in england:
            i might have some roots in
Silesia, but it's "hard" to not be a historical
animal, an "animal" with a sense of time,
i.e. a future a past a present...
esp. under the english conditions
of: the biological animal momentum narrative,
like a tsunami, like an earthquake...
ripples throughout...
              i can't move forward with
the english championing darwinism every
single ******* step of the way...
why can't they hide darwin like the polacks
hid copernicus...
given the motto: copernicus -
who moved the earth, and stopped the sun...
why wouldn't i escape into history
if the current biological reality is:
(a) a yawn... the cruel nature of per se?
   the courting of pigeons on a t.v. antenna...
pigeons get rejected all the time,
lesson learned, he bows and bows,
coos... expands his tail feathers upon
the bow then folds them... she flies away...
repeat...
    (b) i can't escape being a historical
animal in the way that what the current
facts are being repeated have encountered
a whiff of Chernobyll...
              history is inclided to answer reality...
biology? not so much... not from what i've
seen and heard...
             truly a schizophrenics disney dream:
to walk among the newly insane feeling
like the only sane among them...
beau-ti-ful!
                   well... given the current criteria
of being bilingual as being synonymous
with being a schizophrenic...
           magic!
                    
   now the crescendo...aphorism 24
ponderings X:

              the word designates, the word signifies,
the word says, the word is (heidegger)...

i found that you can only write
"philosophy" with a neat, fixed vocab. regime,
clarity of boundaries...
    quadratic events in vocab.:

i.e. the reflexive: yourself, himself, itself etc.
and the reflective: your, self....
                       his, self...
                                  it, and the self...
                    ergo? atheistic scissors,
  the two articles, indefinite and definite
                                 a / the "self"...

i'm not playing "identity politics",
when i say that only two peoples ever managed
to sack Moscau... the mongols and the polacks
with the help of lithuanians,
"identity politics" only happens in
post-colonial society, akin to the english,
i'll speak the english,
but i will not be a cucked indian of
the former raj: i will eat the fish & chips,
i will eat the sunday roast,
   i will eat the english breakfast with great
delight...
            but i will not do what these former
colonial masters expect of me:
integrate at the expense of making my
mutterzunge into hubris!
stubborness contra pride...
                hard to tell the difference...

and why do i like heidegger so much?
i'm not into the ad homine arguments...
my grandfather, was, a communist party member...
so?
       i like heidegger... because he appreciates
poetics, i like that poets can share the same
values as philosophers,
thanks to heidegger: we have been requested
back into the republic...
if plato and islam didn't like us, hanging around,
some offshoot german thinker / promenade
enthusiast like used enough to,
i suppose: ban the theatre puppeteers...

i am not playing identity politics...
biological reality is not enough...
but archeological reality?
       can you really advance to counter?
i was born near:
Krzemionki Opatowskie, a Neolithic and
early Bronze Age complex of flint mines
for the extraction of Upper Jurassic (Oxfordian)
banded flints...
  personally? i don't believe in
the African genesis conundrum...
i believe "my" people originated from
the Indian sub-continent,
as, associated with the complex:
Indo-European categorization of language;
i'm still to see an African phonetic
encoding system, beside the hieroglyphics...

i, was, born, there! i'm not a displaced
post-colonial debacle between former master
and former slave...
i have: roots... i'm not ******* up to the fish & chips
brigade with a friday night's worth of curry...
i cook my own curry,
and by god: it is the food of the gods...
i'll give the blue indians that counter...
but sure as **** not the worth of mead
or whiskey...

if they only tolerated themselves,
sure, learn the english language,
but know this much:
           english is the modern lingua franca...
it's the language of economics,
forget the natives, too ignorant to learn
either deutsche or française:
island-folk...
                what else, what other attitude?
even the russians are like:
that land of the weirdos? the idiosyncratics?
yes, we know that land...
the only "thing" that shelters the english
are the h'americans, the south africans,
the australians etc.,
  sure as **** the scots aren't sheltering them...
and, mind you?
   if the i.r.a. really wanted to plant
a bomb?
   a real bomb? they'd revert from speaking
any english to begin with... resorting
to revising their usage of gàidhlig:
ga-id-hlig... gaelic...
   like the welsh, stubborn people, proud people,
retaining their Çymraeg...
celt: said kelt...
the glaswegian football team?
       Çeltic... not: keltic...
  borrowed from the greek: sigma (ς: cedilla to ****)...
   wow! all the particulars in the english tongue!
guess it would take an ausländer to spot them!

U-21 european championships,
england versus romania:
                           a magnificent match...
the youngsters playing better football
than the oldies in their mid to late / early 30s...

i'm trying to tolerate Islam,
               it's not in my nature...
            hell... i enjoyed visiting a turkish barber
shop, i still have an unflinching opinion that,
the turks are the best barbers in the world...
but...

              this quote, is going to **** you:
same aphorism / pondering (24 / X) -


*** fight videos - count dankula...
you know what i'd love to do to these little
snarky *****?
the french revolution isn't enough...
n'ah, them hanging, is not enough....
ever heard of the butchers' hook?
                 it's also callled close-up fishing...
imitation hang-man...
   you insert a fishing hook...
and you let the sweeney todd ****** dangle...
on a hook, rather than a noose...
lords of salem come your way?
i'd rather the snarky teen hanging off
a fisherman's hook than dangle
like some lynched ******...
beside the suffocation,
i'd like them with a fisherman's hook entombed
in their hard palette...
         i don't want them hanging...
what am i? a sadist?
  i want them on the fisherman's hook!
when suffocating without a broken spine absorbed
by the neck isn't enough!
  fisherman's hook gallows is a
masterpiece... of suffering...
  most certain...
  when cheap comedy is being towed...
making fun of bums, or homeless people...
the current society is so welcome
to bypass all the "adventures" of Loki...
but akin to the lords of Salem...
burn!? such a limitated imagination!

ah... right... digressing...
        the reflexive / reflective quadratic...
language - only if speech  has acquired
the highest univocity of the word does it
become strong (enough) for the hidden
              play of its essential multivocity
(as withdrawn from all "logic"),
             of which poets and thinkers alone
are capable, in their own respective modes
and their own directions of sovreignty.

we do live in a time of a lost sense
of dialectic, since we do not live in a time
of etertaining dialogue,
perfectly sensible opinions,
that's all we have...

                       if one of these snarky *******
came up to me...
they'd get a chance to experience a rubric
of 4, knuckles...
what's 189 centimeters in empirical?
6ft2...      oh!
                   see where imagination takes you?
and here i was: thinking i was without it!
butcher's hangman...
oh, not so easy...
                  
                fame by no association to fame...
just the tears of parents who raised their children
to be nothing more than rugrats...
annoying gnat like bothersomes;
and nothing quiet special to be associated
with weimar berlin...
     just, these,
   h'american mall onlookers
with pwetty-guy-for-a-white-fly-mentality,
as borrowed from californian
1990s punk;

re-used ****** losers.

mad-hatter's fraction: 10/6....
      0.666...
      well: to the given extent:
1.666666(7)....
     1, 0, /6,
no number is divisible by 0,
every number, divisible by 1:
is the same number...
    mad hatter's 10/6...

   re-used ****** losers...
i like that phrase...
        7 for every 6, 7 for every 6...
until the 0. fraction comes
a 1.: exponential serf of 0...
0 being the multiplier...
          
         i really am growing a beard to less
don it, but rather to experience
a relief from patience...
war robots?
the first non n.p.c. game...
i like that, very much...
      and when i did:

you know my first experience of
love at first sight?
the younger sister of my then girlfriend...
****** up ****...

love at first sight is a terrible phenomenon...
i was nearing 18, she was barely 13...
i was dating her older sister...
but it was love at first sight,
the trouble with: love at first sight:
it doesn't lie...
it tries to lie...
          but it can't lie...

   paedophilia? a bit... untouched bodies
though... bodies of people who were
never supposed to touch...
i once said to a fwend:
well wouldn't it be ****** up if i touched
her?
   she's a muse, which doesn't translate
into vacating her as a busy body
worth of a touch, does it?
     if only my old friend samuel said
otherwise:
sylvester "contra" tweety:
my first girlfriend...
but her sister?
         i was nearing 18, she was about 13...
love at first sight...
untouched, cradled, unscathed...
and so she remained...
   until she did what every girl would
have done...thank god she remained
a figment of my imagination...
   rammstein: rosernrot...
    
           i have seen love at first...
such a load of ******* that it had to be
the younger sister of a girl i was dating...
and the **** that i had to be 18 and see
was just beginning her teenage transition...
the world unfair i grant
the most justifications... as being
the (just - unnecessary adjective) arbiter...

love at first sight becomes a forbidden love...
love at first sight was always a forbidden
love...
           and the sort of "love" that achieves
a perspctive of change that doesn't
translate into old age...
love at first sight is soon translated
into a love of affairs closely associated
with middle-age disenfranchised
state of affairs...
i.e. to love again...
            how else to feel relief from
having lost both one's inhibitions
               as well as one's ambitions?!
in the conundrum of the mortal
"question" of the continuum being
preserved?

whereas there might be some "other" day...
any bilingual might complicate the mutter-zunge
of the natives: perhaps "just so"...
but here i am...
          drinking a little - if not leonard cohen,
then some bee-bop big diddly dylan....
or what's left crispy... with a blue valentine
akin to... whoever sang about...
ancient egyptian pyramids...
loosening to team up
with Chinese hieroglyphs...
that they retain and precursor
x-ray vision.... that they do that they are
a skelettanzen...

these fortnight once in a blue moon
bulldozer events...
  i, completely, mesmerised...
some gravity toward constellations...
the ugly punch of lacking verbiage...
i said clouds: no... i didn't say clouds...
i "said" cutting into a clarity of night
and the leftover gleaming pebble
of Mauritania...

       fastened like something done up
with... a goo of glue...
says i'm comfy...
but in the grand architecture of
cauliflowers a "sputnik" of eyes that see me,,
that will leave me riddled
akin to the names
like: very much furniture -esque:

     Adam Smith....
          Jean Paul... and a Sartre...
placebo solipsists... i imagine...

yes, these cauliflower floaters of sky,
being obstructed... some hue of blue
in a lineage of... Monet's Marseille...
  
clouds my hyped-up cauliflowers...
what's the difference between
Dublin and Edinburgh...
well... everything that's what's Paris
or... Loon'dough.... of... donned... piercing...
scissor fighting like
metaphor for *****... scissors... *****...
it wasn't exactly "fighting"...
just... a quest for establishing disparity...

cauliflowers in the sky...
extending masks into contortions of smile-lee...
pour some red wine over my wait for
a grave...

poverty stricken metaphors: like like...
time just yawns...
when incremental details of space are allowed
to do what space does....
metaphor like, like this, like that...


wouldn't i ever, wouldn't i ever be one for
one of those
philanthropic romances
of detailing life by every face i would ever
see when cycling toward st. paul's...
and how gravity contorts
these faces... tell-tale signs of physiognomy...
that physiognomy is not, truant...
perhaps i should polish up my
punctuation...
        on some faces a signature: life-is-elsewhere...
perhaps some syntise onym of Heidegger's
dasein...
                my own investment in
hiersein left me with structure to see
how subjectivity will be undermined
because: some clerical baron of...
no, not stoicism... of some leech purr
negativity starts making stark demands
against uniqueness etc.
of all that's true in that...
heavily invested in subjectivity...
i can't see a balance of placing an order
on everything "shience" **** me:
alles großartig!
             no... but i don't need a parasite
of an ego of the other... concretely
the other within the confines
of an oozing membrane of authority
akin to journalism...
to think that melancholy does not have
viral essential, components - res extensa
manoeuvering dittos and other wriggly bits
of out-of-focus "thinking"...
more like labouring with a hammer
in a... forest of nails!

   always this bilingual "curse": something
older than this acquired Ęglish...
          a history as known only via etymological
study...
   notably a "concern" for nouns...
in my native zunge (not that anyone should,
care)...

       1: and when i count...
                      raz, dwa... trzy...
otherwise...
when i don't count and the number reaches
a pronoun status...
jeden... dwa...
              no innovations in grammar...
no ******* revolution...
just one obstruction after another...
or akin to, the metaphor of an iron
egg-shell... i.e. when you crack it
open for a fwyed (a velsh) fried egg...
the yoke tease puncture and spills
and you're left with nothing doing
the runny runny runner: woe...

alert the superiority complex(ed)
unlike those with delusion of grandiosity...
not teasing solipsism, although:
it could be alternatively written as...

mit ein hammer im ein nägelwald...
          who needs a vector, coordinate / preposition
akin to of - relateabl... although...
could be compounded... to... nailforest...
although... in english, english being english...
no diacritical markers... it plain *** rhombus ugly
to put nailforest together...
forest of nails...
        not who's the pwetty face 'ere on in?

"jedynka":
otherwise what's "missing" in the english
zunge?
the dimunitive suffixation...
and all the plethora of gender inclusive
nouns...
wholly complicated stuff...

dwójka, trójka... czwórka...
     piątka:
                   pięść....
    pięć... five-set...
                      six-set... fo-ur!
it's not like there's
a... a...                           (щь)
      dość...                 enough!
otherwise, yes...
  sh-ch...
                       szczerość - truthfulness...
in lingua franca...
an angry english skin-'ed
might shout a remark as
i... bicycle cycle wound and wound
looking for a trill in the R
in something / -where as remote
as Rales...

teasing katakana: no...
syllables weren't enough...
"they" went beseeching architecture... etc.
i came back with some punctures (lettering)...
my stomach shrunk...
my ego fizzled out...
my thought became my oughts

while the equation... if it can be called an equation
(at best)
is more of a question...

'how', or rather, 'why', is it...
that... ц
cz't...
           no...

    how does it go again?
hard sign soft sign etc.
i can tell you "how" i.e.:
             х

i am disgruntled by the sound encoding...
i guess i lean toward too many
tongues and ask for esque Barmitzvah...

bad internet connection:
somehow satellites are
governed by... earthen-work
of worms...
          
   ж(ъ) - *******' worth of a riddle...
here's to from havering-atte-bower
toward, lady in waiting...
my neu fwend... chalky why-ite-ite...
i.e. ж(ъ) should not exist...
unless... gli-mm-er...
is aesthetically proof of condescending
non-essential Lithuanian sprechs / spresch...
tighten the reigns on a hu-SH...
and don half a crown of a crown...
you'll get the acute

   it's already included...
   unless...
                   зъ = ж
         hard, signature...
more, sounds than a peacock's digress...
since                 зь does = ź
to hide diacritical markers
by way of creating "new" letters....
hardly letters more: digressing
graphemes... shortcuts...
apostrophes... supposed surds...
cult of compound hyphenation
in...

   noun contra noun contra:
etymology as: me toy... truancy...
and here: hey presto...
some snippet of history...

3 days said; shared spared "******"....
what's my...racial slirring
at the bottom of the vex / wax mobile...
impromptu: forward thinking...
a H without an F....

   racial slurr...
chalky white... someone i used to...
the demonic king of *****....
toying for tongue over
the already broken egg shells...
next time we meet...
sure as **** there will be, meat...

cucked...gloryhole... "avant garde"...
           as if i were the father...
as if fathering implied ownership...
let the ****** nad tha trapazees get
away with: oh much more than...
this...

concerning the coercive structure
of peer... pressures...
peer pressure...
without any fundamental...
yes the walking abortions...
    unbelievable "pun-and-play-truant"
   punctuation marks....

mea... culpa...
mea culpa... tu-ah...
                    this tired bone
of the same new bite of youth...
          nothing cleaving... toward...
moon heading toward closures...
of... reversing mirrors...
        
i'd sooner turn to ****-******
literature than
study: ****-wit...
Belgravia manual...
******* load of expectation...

      no, clearly i'm Copenghagen "safe":
children are nice...
at leasgg when not
having to invest in them...
from some darwinistic predominant...
squat.... sire...
most cleaving to the crown...

horrible tides of ashen...
the tails of non-existent streets of Holborn...
b'wing heave  nuanced h'american....
boyish... boy-told...
same round of *******...

i say crease a ****** for a, paul-lack....
i hear you say...
i own \ tiresome...
i say crease a ****** to crisp up
a ******... i say... mine ******* bounty
that's hardly passing Irish... you...
******* mummified thumb and
a... m.o.p.e.

          most offended people ever?
i guess i must be tired of lying down,
being pressed down,
estimating that... squat?!
is best what red hot chilli peppers were
circa 1999... and a garage an uncle
and a porsche... was... what Ilford was...

here's my handicap score... scrooge...
what, the, ****?
here's looking up for "better"...
seeing how the natives perform a better: less
than the ingested scrutiny of:
welcome...
here's me living in Kenya...
here's me... past for past's worth
currency: displaced...
hier ist mich!

           X X - like the Spaniards version
of ****... jack... jilly... i.e. Ha... Ha...
imagine how bleak, paradoxically auburn
and albino i must have appeared to appear
WWI shell-shocked... entrenched....
in some aum-of-mud...

these... walking abortions of a kindred of
mine... men... somehow...
laxing in contemplating devoid(s)...

        here's a letter or two, towing,
tied:
make a gimmick... pillow fighting...
moth-mouth (mottemund)...
elder english i.e. german -
some byway of etymological:
von ost...

           kommen sie (der) sonnenaufgang...
cauliflowers in the sky...
eyes that... ripple...
clued in death summarise....

i might ask...
  i probably will wilt sooner...
here's a spoon
and here is:

         зъ = ж (ż)
soft-sign... acute...
      źrenica (pupil)...
it's female... it's tow-tied...
it's leash prone... too...

             зь = ź

wouldn't i ever, wouldn't i ever be one for
one of those
philanthropic romances
of detailing life by every face i would ever
see when cycling toward st. paul's...
and how gravity contorts
these faces... tell-tale signs of physiognomy...
that physiognomy is not, truant...
perhaps i should polish up my
punctuation...
        on some faces a signature: life-is-elsewhere...
perhaps some synonym of Heidegger's
dasein...
                my own investment in
hiersein left me with structure to see
how subjectivity will be undermined
because: some clerical baron of...
no, not stoicism... of some leech purr
negativity starts making stark demands
against uniqueness etc.
of all that's true in that...
heavily invested in subjectivity...
i can't see a balance of placing an order
on everything "shience" **** me:
alles großartig!
             no... but i don't need a parasite
of an ego of the other... concretely
the other within the confines
of an oozing membrane of authority
akin to journalism...
to think that melancholy does not have
viral essential, components - res extensa
manoeuvering dittos and other wriggly bits
of out-of-focus "thinking"...
more like labouring with a hammer
in a... forest of nails!

   always this bilingual "curse": something
older than this acquired Ęglish...
          a history as known only via etymological
study...
   notably a "concern" for nouns...
in my native zunge (not that anyone should,
care)...

       1: and when i count...
                      raz, dwa... trzy...
otherwise...
when i don't count and the number reaches
a pronoun status...
jeden... dwa...
              no innovations in grammar...
no ******* revolution...
just one obstruction after another...
or akin to, the metaphor of an iron
egg-shell... i.e. when you crack it
open for a fwyed (a velsh) fried egg...
the yoke tease puncture and spills
and you're left with nothing doing
the runny runny runner: woe...

alert the superiority complex(ed)
unlike those with delusion of grandiosity...
not teasing solipsism, although:
it could be alternatively written as...

mit ein hammer im ein nägelwald...
          who needs a vector, coordinate / preposition
akin to of - relateabl... although...
could be compounded... to... nailforest...
although... in english, english being english...
no diacritical markers... it plain *** rhombus ugly
to put nailforest together...
forest of nails...
        not who's the pwetty face 'ere on in?

"jedynka":
otherwise what's "missing" in the english
zunge?
the dimunitive suffixation...
and all the plethora of gender inclusive
nouns...
wholly complicated stuff...

dwójka, trójka... czwórka...
     piątka:
                   pięść....
    pięć... five-set...
                      six-set... fo-ur!
it's not like there's
a... a...                           (щь)
      dość...                 enough!
otherwise, yes...
  sh-ch...
                       szczerość - truthfulness...
in lingua franca...
an angry english skin-'ed
might shout a remark as
i... bicycle cycle wound and wound
looking for a trill in the R
in something / -where as remote
as Rales...

teasing katakana: no...
syllables weren't enough...
"they" went beseeching architecture... etc.
i came back with some punctures (lettering)...
my stomach shrunk...
my ego fizzled out...
my thought became my oughts

while the equation... if it can be called an equation
(at best)
is more of a question...

'how', or rather, 'why', is it...
that... ц
cz't...
           no...

    how does it go again?
hard sign soft sign etc.
i can tell you "how" i.e.:
             х

i am disgruntled by the sound encoding...
i guess i lean toward too many
tongues and ask for esque Barmitzvah...

bad internet connection:
somehow satellites are
governed by... earthen-work
of worms...
          
   ж(ъ) - *******' worth of a riddle...
here's to from havering-atte-bower
toward, lady in waiting...
my neu fwend... chalky why-ite-ite...
i.e. ж(ъ) should not exist...
unless... gli-mm-er...
is aesthetically proof of condescending
non-essential Lithuanian sprechs / spresch...
tighten the reigns on a hu-SH...
and don half a crown of a crown...
you'll get the acute

   it's already included...
   unless...
                   зъ = ж
         hard, signature...
more, sounds than a peacock's digress...
since                 зь does = ź
to hide diacritical markers
by way of creating "new" letters....
hardly letters more: digressing
graphemes... shortcuts...
apostrophes... supposed surds...
cult of compound hyphenation
in...

   noun contra noun contra:
etymology as: me toy... truancy...
and here: hey presto...
some snippet of history...

3 days said; shared spared "******"....
what's my...racial slirring
at the bottom of the vex / wax mobile...
impromptu: forward thinking...
a H without an F....

   racial slurr...
chalky white... someone i used to...
the demonic king of *****....
toying for tongue over
the already broken egg shells...
next time we meet...
sure as **** there will be, meat...

cucked...gloryhole... "avant garde"...
           as if i were the father...
as if fathering implied ownership...
let the ****** nad tha trapazees get
away with: oh much more than...
this...

concerning the coercive structure
of peer... pressures...
peer pressure...
without any fundamental...
yes the walking abortions...
    unbelievable "pun-and-play-truant"
   punctuation marks....

mea... culpa...
mea culpa... tu-ah...
                    this tired bone
of the same new bite of youth...
          nothing cleaving... toward...
moon heading toward closures...
of... reversing mirrors...
        
i'd sooner turn to ****-******
literature than
study: ****-wit...
Belgravia manual...
******* load of expectation...

      no, clearly i'm Copenghagen "safe":
children are nice...
at leasgg when not
having to invest in them...
from some darwinistic predominant...
squat.... sire...
most cleaving to the crown...

horrible tides of ashen...
the tails of non-existent streets of Holborn...
b'wing heave  nuanced h'american....
boyish... boy-told...
same round of *******...

i say crease a ****** for a, paul-lack....
i hear you say...
i own \ tiresome...
i say crease a ****** to crisp up
a ******... i say... mine fuckibng bounty
that's hardly passing Irish... you...
******* mummified thumb and
a... m.o.p.e.

leftover wonders:
   dream of the Faroe Islands...
my cat-**** snippet of a "reconquista"
and some, boring h'arab of barking & kin...
did his pakistani trick-easy...
a malcolm x mythological blonde
summary...
the spider suckles the fly...
life gravitates toward a
membrane of juggling **** and a...
pyramidic persitance of: give a ****...
less that i do...

while the red wine flows... and flows....
crab bucket destructor...

such are the joys of white liberal...
****...
magic carpet... what not...
here's a walking abortion...
here's monkey lingo-linguo
                  Otto the next Urban... once
Islam was to be agitated...
forever: *******!

my... unwinding under the scrutiny of
reading into... spine.

.sometimes it pays, to be a little bit paranoid, which implies: you're more attune to certain things...

currently, the parliament of england,
or should i say: the commons
is doing a staged coup to meßmeriße
any member of the public:
watching...

     all it takes is for the b.b.c. journo'
to talk to ol' Nigel...
   storm Nigel looks,
more or less: cucked...
   in the current common cipher
parlance...
         like a schoolboy...
eyes slightly watering,
    cordial,
                  very much: hush-hush...
we're about to see a very
impressive magic trick...

point being: i hope i'm wrong...
but what some call
the government,
and i started calling a brothel /
  fiasco...
    well...
          the no-deal brexit
is off the table...
       now there's a motion
  to ask for an extension...

an extension...
that will last until the 22nd of May...
remind me...
when do the european parliamentary
elections take place?
   23rd of May...
oh... i see...
   wanna see the poker card?

as much as i hate
      jacob rees-mogg
(in the sunday times interview,
he disclosed how
he can't boil an egg...
   and that's when my hatred
ends,
   and... pity begins)...
he is, in all honesty...
   the next alastair campbell...
i.e. the next spin-doctor...
i mean...
  rhetoric is one thing,
rhetoric in poetry is...
not what a rhetorician is
on the political level...

               from the interview
i just got spaghetti,
only now i'm untangling it...
basically...
if all goes to plan...
and the plan being:
    the anglo-ßaß don't want
a "soft" exit from the european
union, i.e. they don't
want the e.u.'s deal...
   a few clues about laws...
and how:
   well...
the european parliamentary
elections take place on the 23rd of May...
the proposed delay lasts until
the 22nd of May...
so... chances are...
   someone from England...
will be elected into european
parliament... there will be an MEP...
or at least...
that's the plan...
   to default on the exit from
the union, on the grounds
that the leaving party,
is still, somehow, represented
in the european parliament...

that's the plan,
   you can spot the schemers
right away...
   the tactic of stalling has paid off...
it's like i'm back in high-school...
i know the sort of people,
i used to talk to them
on the day of hanging in an essay...
they'd put it off,
2 weeks in advance,
until the last day / night...
and pull out an all-nighter...
drop caffeine pills
   and hand in a rushed essay...
but in this scenario:
it's not a grade B
     for making an exit...
but a grade A for making
    a referendum result being
revoked:
   on grounds of democratic
jurisprudence / law...

   unlike with the Irish...
this "2nd referendum" had to become
spaghetti tangled...
it had to have the language
of and for a people,
overtly sensitive,
   in their quest of being
the sole arbitrators of democracy...

so much for the argument:
well, but those unelected officials
in Brussels...
**** me! what about the elected
officials in London?!
it might be that i suffer
from myopia and i can't
the two apart...

    i hope i'm wrong...
but... when those chose the extension
date, from march 29th
to may 22nd...
   with the european elections
being staged on the 23rd of may...
you start to think:
   they're not going for
a straight-out 2nd referendum...
they need to cover it up
in an elaboration
of their Hydra...
      their bureaucratic intricacy weight...
paper trail...
   trial by paper...

where is Nigel the fire-*******?
Nigel the tornado?
   to me... he looks like he just
experienced sensual bliss
with some Dutch *******...
or maybe that's just me...
2 and a half years...
   and there was me,
thinking that only priests
                          were useless:
how many times will
you drill that metaphor
into the minds of people?
   any longer?
              the shittest magic trick
i've ever seen...
at least a magician can do
some sort of magic...
   2000 years later...
  and the wine is still wine...
and the bread is still bread...

   or at least: this is me...
having just started watching
vikings episode 1 - 4 of season 1...
listening to biodrive: psychopath...
i hope i'm wrong...
     i really really do.

and i saw, four figures of fire rise up
and transverse the night sky...
     to reiterate: i'm used to seeing wandering
stars... that's almost usual for me...
to reiterate:
    if i'm originally writing in English...
i have to go back, to the zeppelins...
und ich gesehen, vier zahlen aufgehen
und querlaufend der nachthimmel!
mein gott! ich war rechts!
                                  der zeit ist reif!

of the 3Ps i once cited: priests psychiatrists & prostitutes, there's also a 4th P... poets? then again, i'm not too sure, too much soapy-water, too much cuddle-fiddling going around, not enough gusto akin to Julian Tuwim, Witkacy, Dante or Giuseppe Belli... i mean, go for it, go see a priest, see what he tells you: repent! some ******* solipsistic mea culpa - only you exist! it's all your fault... right... everyone else is ******* blameless?! go see a psychiatrist... if they don't prescribe you regression - i.e. want to implant you with false memories, they'll prescribe you the sort of drugs that make you wet your bed at night! or **** you out, out of a yin-yang... zombie! oi oi! ZOM-BIE! i.e. EE! alternatively... go and see a *******... if you ever thought you had erectile-dysfunction... go and see a *******... never fails... well... it fails when you've drunk too much and she's being an overtly timid little *****: but even then you cuddle and share tongues... what's eyes in Romanian? what's freckles in Romanian? what's nose in Romanian? then you exit the brothel, get on your bike and scream like a werewolf all the way home, harking, grunting, ******* at yourself for drinking too much... but you still exit the brothel like a gentleman: in their own words... you kiss two on the hand and the one you just spent an hour with on the forehead... then you go back again and ask for the Turkish girl that was so eager to sleep with you... this time you go sober... turns out she's a nymphomaniac and you're into that sort of ****... wholesome stuff... nothing ****-funny... none of that Dubai crap... wholesome... oral *** without a ****** and then all that protection while she talks something funny while you try not to speak a word: word... who needs god in the bedroom? elevation of animal noises just won't do? all this talk during *** is a ******* turn-off...

             che bber ttruttrù! oh ddio mio che cciammellona!
   e ppoi sc'è la bbebbella e la bbobbóna!

like the men who put women on a peddle-stool,
this idea that: women are unable to ****...
or some Cinderella *******, i have the same problem
with the English, the people,
i don't know why... i always seem to envision then
as these ideal people... well... concerning what
they say: you'd think so...
perhaps not the people per se:
rather the society they have envisioned...
well... so much for the society they envisioned...
where's the best part at?
where?! 10 Downing St., there's where!
that's going to be a running joke for, some, time...
it's not that i even care...
it started to turn foggy, "all of a sudden"...
you know how fog looks like in the night?
like... someone breathed a breath of milk
powder into the atmosphere:
the street lights are visible, the moon is...
but people are less and less: visible because...
they tell big-little-truth: which are lies...
it's not the sort of lies associated with..
why would my supervisor send me
a sample of her fruit cake... white lie: oh... great
baking technique... like **** it was...
whenever having *** i always found it
suspicious that a woman might get pleasured
from the *******...
whenever it happened to me with prostitutes:
i still wouldn't believe them...
i would be met with scolding: OW...
yeah: they couldn't believe it either...
they couldn't believe that being authentically pleasured
i didn't buy into them being pleasured...
hey, weird as the world is... enough said...
so my supervisor sends me her take on
a fruit cake... oh **** me it's sweet...
it's so sweet it's like the antithesis of *******
a lemon... i mean... even though *******
a lemon is not exactly cringe... but a lemon
is a sweet-acidity... this load of *******
it is just SWEET...
i have to brew myself a cup of coffee
and not sweeten it just in order to... to...
recreate a concept of palette for my numbed tongue...
it's terrible: women can bake worth of ****
these days...
it's too sweet... i rather **** a lemon...
alright, here's to the plunge...
what are we working with...
two *****... *****?!
if there are two women... trying to look
unattractive... oh **** on me...
we even don the same haircuts... but i have the beard:
they don't...
i'd still... you know... do some plumping...
male sure something is working, correctly:
you read is correctly:
MALE SURE... no... not "MAKE SURE"...

are these women supposed to have invisible sniffer
dogs around them, does it take having 5 children
to say: mmm... something is scented "funny"...
*****... for starters...
and that's like... normal... for the woman to
sniff you? sure, the compliment is great:
oh, you smell good...
           so does a fresh paintjob on a pristine looking
bathroom, but who am i to brag?
and it's like the most basic job:
lowest i.q. threshold imaginable...

i can say, i look the part... why do i look the part?
is some ******* **** going to stop me
taking a pint of beer to an area where i'm not allowed to take it...
or will some 6ft2 bloke...
donning a pristine coat... affirmatively pedantic
in questioning his attire... stop... 6 lads...
from doing likewise... because... i look the part?
because i'm a male and... ahem: "i'm entitled to being
entitled to the entitlement of being entitled of
being in a functioning role whereby i'm not given
leeway?!
optics... no one is going to take a woman seriously
in a position of a steward... even if she tries to pull it off
as a ******* ****... sorry, no...

reality tends to bite back...
even Brandon... oh my mother knows Brandon,
he works the Romford Blue Sapphire gym...
we talked about dogs... about him being abused about
the public, me trying to explain to him that:
he too has a breaking point... imagine that:
you going off a tangent...
see... this is what bothers me about the English...
Brandon says he's a home... manager...
some sort of manager... that he lives with his girlfriend...
i message me mumz and she clarifies...
he's not a manager... he's a senior receptionist...
he lives with his girlfriend... hmm... he might have
a girlfriend, but he probably lives with his parents...

status, hierarchy...
****'s sake... he says he's a manger of a gym, house, manager...
yet he... works added hours as a steward at sport events...
or the second girl that sniffed me up:
because i'm all ******* fine for being sniffed...
she apparently has a private... personal? huh?
business... oh... she just does this **** on the side...
right... 5 kids in...
you know the advantage of not being famous...
you can sort out a lot of ******* among your coworkers...

oh **** me, the atmosphere is great...
Emma loves pythons... you feed them... frozen, mice?
interesting... so they wouldn't eat anything
that's already killed, they need to be under the illusion
of having killed something?! wow...
imagine... living without eyelids... blah blah...
she's almost like this scary feminist blue-tinged hair fairy...
but...
oh my god... if no one's looking...
and i look at her earlobes... no... come to think of it...
if i just look at her ears... yeah: but me writing about this
is not exactly me telling her during hours of work...
oh you smell nice... counter-*******-productive
if you ask me... why? because now i'm thinking about *******
you!

the most ****** parts of a woman... her hands...
why? because if i were she were we were to hold
my ******* emblem... i'd ask myself to be rid
of the pinky finger & the 4th knuckle...
a woman's ears! it's like... itchy... itchy... smooth...
smooth... ears, hands... chin... neck's pleasure-dome
of tenderness... wild eyes!

and you know what: i watch these grown men
"indocrininate" their offspring into either
a support of a football team,
localised prejudices, yet those "disappear" when
support for the / a national teams surfaces...

hey, so much for pork eating
when you're Muslim and cousin *******...
i guess eating pork must be as much
confusing as cousin-*******, no?!
i guess pork-bad = ******-bad!
**** them, these ****** specimens...
who's going to care for them?
is Romania the only option?

        ****** riddled i.q. starvation oops...
how do you write oops in the plural?
as much as i might be discriminated to
eating pork, where does most of leather come from?
shoes? PIG... belt... PIG...
sorry... "cousin": you're about to **** your
grandmother's sister... or whatever happens
in Pakistan...

sinister taunt... how else to combat these
audacious suicide-bombers...
shame their ****** culture origins...
keep them there... they better settle for being there...
aww.... look at that...
only today... a Pakistani mother, daughter & grandma...
the daughter... all sort of fiddly... sort of weird...
to tongue out... trying to lick the grandmother's tongue...
even my cat doesn't do that...

eating pork is bad...
right... while god created all that's good...
god created cumin! turmeric! ******* ****** camel-jockeys....
right... cousin-******* is somehow divinely inspired?!
******* to Dubai... ******* to where there's no "racism" /
slavery invited by the Arabs using up Bangladeshi flesh...

OI! ARAB! COUGH UP! YOUR RIDDLE OF KFC!
power, supposed power... now... a joke; always
the little people, one litre of whiskey will always make you a convert, given, that you get to see so many zombies from the mere experience of ingesting a pint, two pints, three pints of beer...

with me? you need to play a longer game.

- are they still going on about the war of words?
here's a new one i learned...
i believe that onions are the only plants in existence
that have consciousness - or rather:
are receptive of pain...
you chop down a tree... eh... not much...
perhaps a splinter under your nail...
given, in light of debate, ahem "debate" in Parliament
concerning the ethical way of killing lobsters...
boiling the: B'ah BAD...
but freezing them etc.: not so B'ah BAD...
i once dated a girl who found it funny that
in her childhood she would pour salt on snails...
i accidently step on a snail in the dark
in the garden i hear a crunch in my heart...
sorry, mate... didn't see you coming...
it's like this one time - thinking about it still
gives me a pseudo-PTSD...
Poland: where else? walking alone, "somewhere"...
i come across these two boys (i am also a boy
at that time) - oh... so what are you up to?
the reply? **** me...
oh... we caught this frog, we're smearing it
with lipstick then we're going to set it alight...

erm... o.k... see you later Jeffrey & Henry H...
******* Major Major, whatever...
o.k. that i'm not a presbyterian: shoot me...
give me a raw herring in a yoghurt sauce and i'll
tell you to stuff, your cosmopolitan sushi up
your ******* ***!
there, said it, no turning back...
    i'm done, with people, telling me what i can and
can't say... but killing animals in an unnecessary manner:
that's beneath even me enjoying
a few poultry abortions on toast...
a toasted bagel... with some cream cheese...
some raw smoked salmon (is it cooked if it's only
smoked?) some dill and... mmm... a squeeze of lemon...
beats a cucumber every single time...
curing... funny that... you pour some acid
on a sea protein and it starts a cooking process...
that's ******* weird...
it's "unconsciously" receptive of the cooking process:
to heat... via an acid...

right, right... that new word...
        syn-propanethial-S-oxide... said the cis-man...
that's the **** that onions release when you
cut them... which makes you cry...
ergo? you think that perhaps onions are receptive
of pain? should we have a Parliament debate akin
to lobsters regarding how one might prepare onions?!
i think we should... also... a debate about
eating oysters... after all: invasion of privacy:
peering into those shells... don't you think?

- sure, but if i were to do it... oh, something smells "funny"...
not good, at first, just funny...
she wanders with her eyes then focuses on my neck
draws in and sniffs it... oh... it's you... you smell good...
yeah... i do that... but in a brothel...
once i've paid to pass the paywall...
i take her hair in my hands and sniff it...
because she's lying next to me, naked...
and i'm naked it... but i don't ******* follow it up
with any words: i'm already intoxicated
by the scent...

if a man were to sniff up a woman - in public, or better still...
in a professional environment...
and these are the same women who get confused when
they are abused by drunk and disorderly lads
at a football match... like Louis XIV said:
perception is everything... for ****'s sake:
if you don't look the part... a hungry *** starved
yet still a beaming with joy angry gorilla...
you're not going to get away with much...
not in that sort of scenario...

a quest for double-think: my new motto is...
YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL ME THE TRUTH,
JUST DON'T LIE...
what's the middle ground? this supposed house
manager (ahem, elder receptionist) -
well... we ended up talking about him
petting a dog... an american pit bull terrier...
but he called it by some other name...
where he walked: Raphael Park, eh?

oh the nights spent with dangerous ladies...
loved every minute...
the only place where i can: breathe me...
and breathe them...
where i don't have to be ignored, displaced...
******* of a man...
esp. among Romanian or Turkic women...
to hell with those overrated blonde ******...
give me Tuba Büyüküstün and i'll give you
the ******* Taj Mahal... eh... some prostitutes are
just worn beauties... you rub them the right way
some sort of Genie ends up appearing...
usually: grr... viciously... wild-eyed...
anyway... none of them could ever get in between
my affair with Fraulein Bernstein (whiskey)...
it sort of *****... but life's life... and death's death...
no point making complaints...
ooh... **** me... all that raven hair... and Turkic...
recipe for disaster...
why? well... because she's not exactly copper-skinned...
she doesn't look like she has a pernament suntan...
like the Raj girls from... wherever Delhi is...
(I know where Delhi is! for, ****'s sake!)

if we're being so adamant in living in a post-racial
society, surely i can pick and be fickle about
my sort of potential cocktail of genes, no?
does it always have to be about black on white,
or white on black... can i... hmm...
i'd like something more curious... again:
can i stick with the Turkic women?
i fancy that depth of a shared history...
the Ottoman Empire knocking on the door
of Europe (even though the Greeks cucked)
at Vienna... the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth replying...
while being back-stabbed by the...
Prussians... Russians... Swedes...

o.k. i tried being extra special and slept with...
two black girls... not that i greatly enjoyed it...
o.k. i enjoyed ******* one...
but the other one gave me the creeps...
how, can, i, ****, a woman,
when... she has two children sleeping in the room...
she drags them out of bed...
forces them to sleep on the floor while i'm
THEN supposed to do, what?!
**** her?! she probably had *** since she
started to fake having a ******... instead ensuring
her inner thighs were tight enough...
or whatever the **** was happening...
i just asked her: can i sleep here tonight...
she agreed... i woke up in the middle of the night
while little afro Jerome was standing at the foot
of the bed ******* at a makeshift ****...
so i grabbed him and placed him on my chest...
the end...

*** is ugly... unless it's with a *******...
in a brothel...
   come to think of it... since: i'm always drinking
when i'm writing...
the more i drink the more i wake up...
i was going to suggest: the more i sober up...
no, the more i drink the more i wake up...
but i'm not of the "woke" brigade...
i'm of the SLEPT brigade...
    waking is for the people who are still somewhat
sleeping... or... rather... awake in a zombie-state
of consciousness, mantra-riddled *******...
what could get me drunk?
if i were drinking... as always...
a good conversation... i'm a sucker for a good conversation
like i'm a sucker for pop music when i'm sober...
AQUA: TURN BACK TIME... anything
by ROXETTE...

- and as it happens at every football match i steward,
i see a dad with his younglings...
sure... that could have been me,
but, my psychotic trip: exit at the age of 21...
sort of sorted my future affairs for me,
perhaps i wrote in my 20s... something or other...
but i wasn't really there: or here...

   i get really jealous when i see a guy with a pretty girl,
or when i see four or five guys, friends...
then again: i hate companionship,
i prefer the presence of animals...
    dogs i can almost stand if i don't require them
to be put on a leash... on a leech of authority...
i can stand objective language as long
as it is prescribing me authoritative pointers...
but objective narration bores the hell out of me...
it's so... so... unimaginative...
if objective narratives were a women
i'd call them a stuck-up-***** fakery
of a flaky "******"...

                             while Pearl Jam became
what Nirvana could never become... grunge-dad-rock...
i don't mind... i truly don't mind... after seeing
enough faces you start thinking along
the categories of: TO PREVENT A SECOND HILLSBOROUGH,
TO PREVENT A SECOND HILLSBOROUGH...

seeing so many people i sometimes start
thinking about working in a slaughterhouse  -
then again, to seem less psychopathic
i think about the people working in slaughterhouses...
it's not fair that i... wait... i'm not getting paid
for this... well if it's free: then i suppose anything goes,
right?
          
    oh what could have been...
oh sure sure, it's great... getting sniffed up by women
in their 30s with 5 children in tow
thinking they are single and childles...
white knight anywhere, anyone?! no? keep sniffing...
darling... and it was this running joke...
*** habits came up... one blue haired freak of a girl
that keeps snakes: some 3ft long, pythons...
she said darling but i forgot to lip-read her
mishearing: daddy... i've been called DAD before...
don't ask why...

i morphed Darling into Daddy... for the whole *******
shift she kept nagging me...
Daddy... this... Daddy that...
o.k. with a 7  year old i could understand...
i could cuddle a toddler... do all that mother-goose ****...
she or he could pull my beard... ;oke my eye out...
i don't do friends, i i don't do dates...
i do prostitutes, i do whiskey,
i do forests at night, i do graveyards at night...
i do German thinking...
  i might come across as autistic or as an imbecile...
but i think the same of you...

how unfortunate to have children of your own...
esp. girls... how unfortunate...
imagine the distaste in your mouth at being called
a father at some point... then again: the same goes for having
a son... it's a nice idea... a very nice idea...
but i'm here not on some ******* mea culpa
clause... i've reached my prime and i wasn't selected
for the replica... it doesn't bother me in that:
i always had a melancholic disposition...
given that i'm ageing... i have acquired a melancholic
sense of self-deprecating humour....
i'll sooner commit suicide than die the death of
"loneliness"...

   it will most certainly be a pristine night...
cloudless... with a full moon!

what's that counter argument i keep hering?
what's that? i said: WHAT'S THAT?!
oh you know that ******* yin-yang masculinity
undermined. that we should all be *******
farmers: not enough coliseums...
plenty of vegan hot-spots though...
love, my ***..

   personally i don't know how white girls ****
all these african boys... for me, ******* a black
girl is sort... sort of crippling...
anything beside something Caucasian...
in the raven hair category... i'll sooner *******
to Asia than i'll acknowledge to ever
coming from Africa... the Somali inbreds
**** me off the most: listen, curly-braids!
you're not here to be paid to watch the football match!
why isn't anyone paid to watch a football match!

once upon a time they were known as the Yanks...
the Yankees... these days? oh, you know...
these days some of us just call them the WANKEES...
the WANKS... cuck-barons of the world..
yeah, i once had respect for these people...
it's sort of waning day in, day out...

but if i'm expected to fight someone else's fight...
these days i'm going to say: no thank you...
i'm already gearing up myself to marry death...
how's that?! of course i can see the little people,
of course i love animals as much as i love children...
they're one and the same to me...
personally... and i'm seriously disorientated
by fraulein bernstein... eternity?!

Abraham! oi!
    an eternity spent among children...
or... with 72 virgins... your take...
         oh no no no...
i'm not taking these *******,
these supposed virgins anywhere...
i'm taking the children... throw in 72 rottweilers
if you're at it... i know time well spent...
but knowing my luck... i'll be bound to a hell
where women sniff my hair, or my neck...
even though i'm not exactly anything to peer at...

why are these Indian women looking at me oh
so funny? i'm not rich, what?! am i funny?!
then again, working around the Turkic manifesto of
a woman's beauty... some of these Raj girls give
me a hard-on like not other... they have eyes that tease...
white girls' eyes are all anti-racist: seek *******
zombie...

white girls are currently only available for black boys
given white girls' anti-racist "trauma"...
so here's to building up a New Brazil!
   yeah.... that's also called me looking elsewhere...
oh, no, not for commitment...
   for the sake of it!
anorexic bleached hair... in need of psychiatric help...
or otherwise beached-whale types...
feminists with pink hair... can... ha ha... CAN i say NO?!
or do i have to?!

ich bin verheiratet zu die nacht und nicht(s)!
ich! allein! bin!
was ein...ziemlich.... gesicht...
from time to time... Saxony?!

z-mooth ah smoochies... and... a "blah"...
what was written in hell: by hell,
must return to hell... please... no tenderness, here,,,,

Pre-scriptum (and yes, no italics this time round):

i was never going to do this day any justice by writing about
it, not in a hundred years, after all: i was going to write about my experiences prior to actual events external of me: not out of egoism or for that matter: a solipsism; i'm just not the type of "poet" akin to a Richard Blanco: the inaugural poet for Barack Obama's second term in office: i just can't bring myself to that Atlas' pose with a pen: perhaps i would require too much paper, but to stand there: like the inaugural poet does and speak so much mumbo-jumbo is... it's not beneath me, it's above me... i'm the "poet" of the Coliseum, i'm the "poet" of brothels and the "poet" of madness and the "poet" of shadows and the night, of the moon and of the forests, i'm the "poet" of aloneness, i'm a "poet" of the philosophers (perhaps a poet-philosopher - a vain title, i know), i'm not an oratory "poet", i'm the "poet" of the old tradition who sometimes smiles and giggles when he finds: rather than brings himself to rhyme! i already drafted something before writing this, i'm currently skim-reading it and trying to make it somewhat salvageable... i doubt i will find anything worth salvaging: that day (3 days have past) will remain a Titanic at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean for me... and so it should be... not that i haven't made the already necessary reflections: well... they were the reflexive-reflections not something i would give much thought to, for a reflection-proper: i absorbed too much on the day to be so generous... but i did the smartest thing imaginable: i took crux-photographs... pivotal pictures from the day... and catalogued them here: https://bit.ly/3d1Tto2...

i have to actually write a schematic if my approach to this is to make any sense: of course i will also interpolate the schematic, jumping from one "event" to another, the schematic is as follows:

(a) babysitting Malvina

                                  (b) West Ham vs. Steaua București
                                      at the London Stadium

(c) the brothel

                                    (d) Afghan "Jamie"
                                          and his gift and everything after...

question? i'm asking myself this... whether to abide
by the schematic linearly a > b > c < d
or to simply (as i already referenced) juxtapose?
interpolate? i.e. a = b = c = d
                    the latter option seems more viable...
i don't like cascading narratives...
for me there's no river of narration: there's the wrathful
sea of narration... water comes all at once: water doesn't
flow: it bashes and sieges the land: esp. the lands
of islands... water, water everywhere:
and not a drop to drink... i'm not going to quote
the poet who wrote those lines...
i'll treat this as a puzzle-box... being a huge fan of
the Hellraiser "franchise" it would be wrong not to...
puzzles... i imagine that if i were good at crosswords
i wouldn't be able to write so fluidly...
i prefer misnomers to synonyms: but that's just me...

when will i begin?! i'm tired of explaining myself...
it will come of its own accord...

ah! first things first...
    QUEEN and KING...
                          so i'm guessing that when the next
international matches are played and
the national anthem is sang... it won't be women singing:
but men... for the simple reason that
women can allocate a higher pitch to:
how does the word queen look like, when sung
by a professional?
                      god save the: queēn!
                                i would have applied the acute diacritical
marker, i.e. queén...
i'd agree with either since the crescendo of the anthem
comes with the last word: either queen of king...
in the case of queen: que-eeeeeeeeeeeeee(n)
the N is there: but the fact that the vowel extended
takes so much breath away... the singer of the anthem
might as well treat the N as an apostrophe
i.e. quee'                    and only women can reach that
pitch of song...
it's a lot different with KING...
          god save the: kíng vs. kīng... since?
well... you need a baritone to sing the word king to
a prolonged crescendo... kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing
    and like the N on the end of quee-n
                              the -ng are meshed: strangely...
but not so strangely...
              i KONG KY crystals...
  (that's KY of: IGREK: a hollowed out y-why,
KY not KI not KE not cat not queue: not question
of qwhestion, that would be a Welsh spelling)...

the day started well enough, the manicurist / pedicurist
was supposed to come a day prior
to sort of mother's nails out... she was was supposed
to come with her baby daughter a day earlier,
it was supposed to be a Wednesday...
apparently the little rascal was giving her trouble
when she tried to attend to other customers:
she would ignore her mother's work,
she would hang around her mother... pull her trousers
(or t-shirt) making it near impossible for her mother
to do her work: even on that fateful day, that was
a a Thursday, she was sceptical about whether she would
be able to do both my mother's hands and legs...

now, i imagine that having children of my own would
decrease my hormonal level of testosterone
(talk about a Chemical Circus, psychiatrists still talk
on chemical grounds when it comes to psychiatric
disorders: the ancient "chemical imbalance" in the brain...
these supposed "atheists" don't even acknowledge
the fact tat the "soul" is chemistry-free,
there's no chemical imbalance: but they still pump
the sufferer of "said" ailment with an approach
that's post-experimental, i.e. a failure) -
no one talks about a hormonal imbalance...
me + children? i'm fine with that: as long as they're not
my own... with the children of strangers i get to
keep my Abrahamic integrity: i invest in the moment
rather than some concern for lineage:
what matters is the child in the moment i'm sharing
the moment with it...

so? i knew there was only one approach for the girl's mother
to do her job... do both hands and feet...
i needed to exhaust the child...
last time i saw her she wasn't walking: she wasn't speaking...
this time i upped my approach to the tender
"fat-thumb"... i put on Disney's Alice in Wonderland...
a somewhat distraction... then? i watched
as she found it fascinating to play with my cats' toys...
ugh: my cats have become terribly existential,
they are no longer fascinated by toys...
they're more fascinated with what i'm fascinated:
i.e. peering at "nothing": staging a coup of "nothingness",
a coup of "nothingness" and of space and of time...
but this BOBAS (the ****** equivalent of the Italian
BAMBINO) took to the cats' toys...

at first she was throwing the toys in the air,
while i was catching them...
each time i didn't catch the toy / ball i heard
the angels sing: no... i didn't: the time i heard angels
(descending?) sing (ascending?) i was terrified...
i just heard the honey trickle of a child giggling...
at first she was shy... pointing out that i had a beard...
she liked my beard... last time she was tugging on it
trying to conjure up a teddy-bear from it...
i like women who have an insatiable urge to pull
on my beard...
but that was the last time i saw Malvina...
this time round she was throwing cats' ***** into
the air and i was catching them... snap-reflexes...
i missed one or two throws: i pretended to juggle...
she giggled and ran back to her mother
to express her joy: this man is playing with me...

man: not boy...
we did that for a while... later we moved to a different
game... we were throwing ***** up the stairs
and watching the ***** roll back down...
then? we sat at the (insert the proper noun,
it's not a table) and i taught her the "art" of spinning
the *****... then i "taught" her the "art" of:
you know... ***** can be thrown... but they
can also be rolled... so we were playing a game
of rolling the *****... rather than throwing them...
the expressions on her face were so intense...
i couldn't ask her why: unlike the prostitutes
in the brothel when asking me: why is your stare
so intense?! WHY NOT?!
you want me to talk?! i'm not bringing our nakedness
into the equation: i'm not going to talk
when we're naked! we talk as if blind people
seeing Braille rather than touching it!

i was just about to offer her some makeshift
Black Forest Gateaux sponge of a "muffin" when
her mother looked up, the little, dearest babe climbed
into a cocoon of pillows and started indicating that:
there has been enough excitement worth of a day's
worth of today... she snuggled up in that cocoon
of pillows... picked up her "smoochie": sucker?
and started giving me the lazy eyes...
i picked up a cover and laid it across her...
the light from living-room was glaring...
i joked: maybe if i put these (here) sunglasses
on your pretty petite visage will you fall asleep?
she managed the joke for about 10 minutes
before pulling them from her face...and... naturally...
as any child exhausted by play could: COULD tell you...
play is exhausting: esp. when playing with someone
who's experimenting on you psychologically...
from throwing *****, to spinning *****...
to rolling *****...
she couldn't have cared to *****' worth of what was
Alice in Wonderland about...

i don't think i will ever forget those cheeky ******
expressions... akin to: we were rolling the *****
across from each other (pretend chess)...
one ball went missing... i was lazy enough to keep
it missing... she grunted: protested!
exactly! we were playing with three *****!
i had to retract my "misguidance"...
well... if she wanted to change of stamina from
throwing them and me catching them...
to now rolling them... we needed all three!
when we were throwing the ***** up the stairs...
what a clever little creature...
she had her favourite coloured ball...
she was throwing a purple ball...
i had to throw the orange coloured ball...
she shared the "adventure"... the game...
but it had to be so... her consciousness already
recognised anti-ghosts of both form and colour...

why would i be bitter?
wouldn't i want children? me and the children
of strangers... sure as **** i wouldn't be trying to teach
them any "pronoun muddles" of the muddy waters
of: if the old COMMUNISTS came in contact with
the "communists of the west"? they'd be GULAG FEED...
some people become fathers and mothers
and are underserving of such roles...
people like me never became fathers simply because:
the would-be mothers are undeserving to
have children that could be fathered by people like me...
it's a calculated truth...
how much ******* money do you need
before the money is only earned in order
to be ****** away by a woman?!
i earn enough to keep myself content!
once a single man reaches this zenith: it's hardly worthwhile
to sink to a nadir of expenditure...
you can always find some stranger's baby to babysit...
then again: not always...
i'm just lucky that i have found my Bambino....

at some point some journalistic Da-Sein started trickling
in: into the household while i was entertaining
a baby: who finally managed to become lullabied
to a sleep that lasted well over one, and half an hour,
even my mother exclaimed: how did you manage it?!
i just replied: i was just being myself...

the news came along the lines of: she sovereign
is peaceful, she's gladly on her "death bed"...
no mention of "death" though...
but when the news increased in detail:
the whole family was to be made full attendance of:
(what poet ever wrote about the death
of Julius Caesar? no one... all of a "sudden":
then, ****! like the "hidden" emergence of the smoke
of history from the fire that was, the man
who uttered the word: alea iacta est -
none on the day of the event... most poets were
busy with their "poetic" *******...
few were scheming the full depth of womanhood,
from baby, to queen and to a *****)

i finally uttered my fiery tongue:
i will give her until tomorrow...
i even said: i hope he suffers the anti-illness of death
prior to the match starting, the match i'm working
a shift on...
she has until tomorrow to back her bag of bones
and flesh and her detailed imprint on the psyche...
until tomorrow: but i'm hopeful too:
that the match will be cancelled...
alas!
  i went to the shift: there was a buzzword in the winds
congregating around the Coliseum:
but the buzzword wasn't either Elizabeth or Queen...
for the first time i experienced the conquest
of veneer: which came days later...
because on the day? i was injected
with an anaesthetic of: what the public is all about...

sure... it looks pretty: "just about now": the veneer
of a caring people... hmm! "caring"...
i pledged two promises in my lifetime, in secret...
the first to Jeff Hanneman: when i was attempting to
grow my hair long in high-school...
before the poster of the band Slayer: i pledged:
i will grow my hair long...
and i did... i remember being fat, un-liked:
a complete nerd: a goof in high-school...
prior to one summer with my grandfather...
shedding weight... growing my hair long...
i was invisible to the girls in the school...

    then one summer i had enough length in my hair
to tie a pony tail... lost enough of weight...
wow! i suddenly became "visible" to the girls...
i paid no attention... i ended up dating the new-comer
Aussie chick... the most popular girl in school...
sure... it took us over a year of friendly courting
me taking her on one of the most glorious dates:
gallery, cinema, restaurant: i paid for all of it...
when *** was *** and man was man
and woman was woman...
all the girls that ignored me prior
were facing an abomination:
a boy with a French braid hair-do...
                        i had this one mantra in my mind:
well! if you didn't show me any interest prior?
why should i show you ny interest now?!

i'm still living in the: REITERATION period
of my life... i still have about 10 years left...
i can wreck a lot of havoc in those ten years waiting
for me... and i will... i will...
i'll **** all the prostitutes in one brothel before having
to move onto the next brothel... and when i ****
all the prostitutes in that second brothel:
i'll move onto the third! and so on, and so on...
all the while enjoying babysitting children
and listening to Crusader song...

i am: done... playing "nice"... nice is no quest for me...
for the stern heart of stone and an arm
cast(e) from an iron grip...

it was all a veneer though... if you attended the football
match between West Ham and that team from Bucharest...
you would have known that: the public?
paid no respect to the passing sovereign:
the football match was more important!
animals! ******* animals!

something else...
                  prior: much prior...
it amazed me... i asked the management team:
so... the usual per se of the football match advent will
be obstructed? when the Coliseum started playing
Debussy and Sartre... i knew...
we opened the gates for the public at 18:30 the supposed
hour of her passing...
so the match would have to go on...

i pledged her a secret allegiance...
i will not succumb to my suicidal thinking until
you die... me?! i want to earn and spend
banknotes with your son's visage on them!
i'm going to outlive you: you HAG!
i had to! i promised Jeff Hanneman my long hair...
i promised ol' Lizzie my life!
i have kept my promise:
i'm alive... she's "now" dead...
thankfully i didn't make such promises on
a promise she might have known of...
i made these promise "unto" her:
but? mostly unto myself...

if the people of England who witnessed the spectacle could
have witnessed the fans of West Ham
on the day of the passing...
they weren't the usual season ticket holders...
absolute animals: paupers! serf! ******* imbeciles!
i spotted one usual season ticket holder
among them: rabble...
we hugged... but the others?! ****-soaked jeans...
oh, **** me: your queen just died
and you're still here chanting for your
football team?! you, *******, PEASANTS!

give me a ******* OAR! give me a ******* KITE!
you, ******* ZOMBIES!
that's why i was given an anaesthetic...
i was given one... at one point
i was telling this ******* TURNIP... this...
BEETROOT of a "man":
you swear at me, one more (*******) time...
and i'll have to ejected!
not today, "mate"... you don't get that (*******)
luxury...

sure... sure... as if people ever cared...
i was bitten by a "tarantula" watching the public
reaction: absolutely no reaction...

the light of the moon is closest to the "heart"
of the shadow come the time of the harvest of the seasons:
come Autumn and the time of Winter:
the brightest shadows are cast upon this
glory of earth...

i was due a proper celebration...
i had to summon a libido of grief...
from a shift at the London Stadium i had to make my way
back into Essex
and visit a brothel: i wasn't expecting to wait for
an hour though: although an hour i waited...
i entertained the Madame
with some Red Hot Chili Peppers....
apparently i have a good taste in music...

brothel, the usual ****?
i'm not going to go into any details:
Duke of Sussex has me covered...
the whinging ginger **** that he is...
BALDY-BALSO!...
ooh! slapper-'ed!
    
    of course i went to the brothel!
i had my **** ****** akin to being
circumcised! i "thought":
now's the time for three-*******'s worth of
feels!
i waited for an hour...
once the hour was "gone"
an Afghan "Jamie" emerged with
a pocket full of marijuana...
i started sniffing the bud like a dog...

oomph: oomph!
what sweetness of an Afghan..
who isn't selling you cut-off ******* of
Jamaican *******...
you just know:
an Afghan sells you marihuana...
he's also selling you poppy milk...
but at least he's not selling you:
******* SAWDUST...
fibreglass from the Vietnamese cookie-cutters...
i got home and drank a little more...
then rolled my a fatty... smoked it in the garden...
and: as usual, the mixture of alcohol and marijuana
hit me like a falling mountain...
the last time i smoked was... ooh...
well over 10 years ago...
  and i'm saying: if an Afghan brings you marihuana:
or rather...
i had to waited for that ****** hour while
all the girls were busy...
i asked the Madame if i could go out for a cigarette...
standing outside: for me, standing casually outside
a brothel is like me standing casually outside a pub...
aha! here we go! one scuttling rat...
i saw him trying to leave in the corner of my eye...
i saw him open the entrance door and then
cower and go back in...
                  English, obviously:
those Victorian "sentiments" concerning sexuality
are: ******* prosaic on someone born
on the continent... i was going to say: hey, mate...
don't be coy, alright? you're not a woman...
i think what put him off was that as he was leaving
the brothel he heard my choice of music
blasting in the waiting room...
he must have been like: "what?! no Romanian
giddy / ****** pop-rap?! who put this music on?!"
he finally made it out in one piece or another...
trying to avert me gazing at him...

oh! such shame! such shame! such terrible shame!
i walked back in and that's when i met
my Afghan "Jamie"... weird name for an Afghan,
isn't it? i thought... long hair... the complete ******
look...
i'm telling "you": if an Afghan offers you marihuana?
you ******* take it...
Afghans are not Jamaicans or any of those little
Vietnamese ****** that mix fibreglass with the "herb"...
the last time i smoked marijuana this good
i was smoking it in Amsterdam...
i was slightly drunk: sexually emptied / satisfied...
the queen just died... i had to...

lo and behold! no paranoia! nothing!
all the best grooves... i was falling asleep in a transcendent
cocoon of my own self:
grinning that creature in Apex Twin's video:
Window-Licker (nice term, for a ******)...
when i was younger i would use the cognitive-whirlwind
in my head to write something:
i'm older, a bit less stupid... i was like:
oh no no... no writing... i'm taking to the "surf":
i'm going to be grinning like a crying clown all the way
to the land of Nod...

i gave the Afghan my number, he couldn't remember his...
he promised that if i met him again:
he would introduce me to Afghan hash...
he still hasn't called...
i'm thinking: if i go back to the brothel, again...
i'll leave my number with the Madame and tell her:
when Afghan "Jamie" shows up, can you please
tell him to give me a call?
he gave me two buds... again: that's another aphrodisiac:
marijuana... but it's an aphrodisiac in reverse...
it perpetuates the ****** encounter:
it elevates thinking about *** along the lines
of daughter, mother, grandmother...
    sister... wife, *******...

on this very day i experienced every possible
category of woman...
**** me: add queen to that list...
                                so the Afghan was waiting for
his friend... they paid by hours... me?
i figured out the brothel after earning my money:
half an hour slots...
i'm not here to see a priest or a psychiatrist...
although i didn't see the former: i've seen enough
of the latter to know the ******* slapping tease it "feels"
like to talk your problems out
rather than doing the utmost sensible thing of:
thinking yourself out...

how did i combat my "schizophrenic" symptoms...
bilingualism! ha ha!
i stopped thinking in narrative-English altogether...
my cognitive-narrative ability has been long ago ******...
i'm a shrapnel-shadow of my former self...
when everything seemed "solipsistic" and in a rigid-linear
form...
mind you: they diagnosed me as such...
but did i ever step foot into an asylum?
not, that, i, know of...
        i did see a lot of medical students though...
the psychiatrists asked if it would be o.k. for them to
scrutinise me as part of their training:
sure, no problem!
    that's the funny thing about going mad...
you can only go mad once...
the second time madness approaches you:
  you're already riding the death spider into a cobweb
of: like a tired man falls into his bed...
i started falling into a comfort of wearing armour...
that i myself crafted under the guidance of
Hephaestus...

  monotheism and globalism: two inseperable concepts
known to man... and both: terrible for all men...
come to think of it... monotheism = globalism...
i sometimes wish i knew more about the Slavic gods...
but i guess the Greek deities and the deities of the Norse
men will suffice... at least with this trend of thought:
there's less concern for the self as atom and pivotal
for everything that's otherwise decided by luck,
fate, karma... no... the western thinking concerning
the individuation process of establishing the self
as the pinnacle has reached a cul de sac... a dead end...

it's time to return to the old order of things...
i can't be stuck in the monotheism of: mea culpa this
mea culpa that...
this idolatrous self-centrism and self-critique:
i know when i'm wrong... i'll apologise:
but certain "things" are beyond my control!
and for "things" to be beyond my control?
there can't just be one god with a plethora of names
of noun-adjectives:
what do most people complain about in terms
of politics and organisation? esp. in America?
local government vs. the centralised federal politics...
it's the same with theology...
i almost wish there was a politicology...
but there isn't... there isn't...

oh sure... sure... monotheism is grand...
just this "one god" that's the (+) magnet for all these
(-) selves... my self, your self: in the reflective form...
myself and yourself in the reflexive form...
only recently i managed to witness the shift
in the earth's trajectory: it tilted...
that... the URSA MAJOR = URSA MINOR...
it's the same ****** constellation!
the earth moves from summery seasons
into the wintry seasons... it, *******: TILTS!

it's the same constellation! during the summery months
we witness the microscopic detail of the constellation...
in the wintry months when the north is tilted back:
we see the same constellation: on a macroscopic detail:
it's one and the same!
there are not two apart... well... from where i'm standing:
believable by the naked eye... that's what it looks like...

unless light can turn ******* corners...
i'm going to be fixated on that...
or that there are "corners" concerning floating
orbs in silence to begin with!
Little Bear during Autumn and Winter...
and Mother "big" Bear during Spring and Summer...
i thought that was ****** obvious!
no? what am i? another ******* Copernicus?!
****... ****! oh ****: i have no telescope... ****** it all
to hell!

i do have this one query... see... i sometimes play
a game with my eyes... i stress my hawkish eyesight
on something close to me...
do you know that we have these strange parasites
living on our eyes?!
oh... they're microscopic... i can see them...
i'm not talking about:
  the eqalussuaq and the ommatokoita... well... i sort of am...
yeah... they're like ribbons of procreative jelly...
winding and swirling... i can see them with my eyes...
on my ******* eyes: can you imagine?
i'm looking at someone that's on my eyes:
microscopic... i must be out there: no wonder
i haven't touched any psychedelic drugs, yet...
when dementia kicks in: please! dementia! kick in!
i want a mushroom to hijack my gorilla brain!
              
mein gott: if i had children of my own...
what horrible monsters i would have to create...
but i have no time:
i'm forever enthralled by the 1980s post-punk
music scene... Depeche Mode and the Cure
were just the tip of the ice-berg...
recently? i came across Blue Kremlin... the song:
fallbeil... i was sort of aware of the genre:
i could never do much with either punk
or rap music...
who was that protagonist of spreading the knowledge
of music to people? Sam Peele, Tim Peele?
John... i sometimes feel like i'm the audience
of one... i hate listening to the radio:
the reasons are obvious: i like to sieve through music
of my own accord:
i switch off whenever i hear music curated for: not me...
no wonder i'm using facebook at a back-catalogue
of music i listened to...
diary entry no. "x": i was actually looking
for this song...

Musta Paraati: Romanssi...
              my bookmarks failed me... i need to employ
at least two sets of bookmarks...
then i move onto the next band...
if i had children of my own? i don't think i'd have
the time to sift through all the music:
democracy is painful...
it would sometimes feel so much easier to follow
one "line of letters": to only have knowledge
of the Quran... to abolish music...
it would last longer...
i'd be the one with a wife and children
and cultural responsibilities...
instead? i'm? hardly lamenting...
the one without a piggy-bank of expenditure...
ever heard of a penny-rattle-inside-a-piggy-bank /
a lean pig?! life's not getting any better:
life has reached a plateau...

for sure: the children of strangers with me
playing the role of the "weird" uncle:
i'm just distant... even though the queen died...
what game me sanity was: thinking about
playing with Malvina...
throwing *****: rolling *****...
oh: and of course: the brothel...
i just couldn't believe how veneer prone the whole
affair was...
these, *******... would still, rather:
sing the "anthem" of their local football team...
than sing: what ought to have been sung:
god save the king, instead?
they sand god save the queen!
the queen is dead! "was": is!

i was given a dose of the anaesthesia that only crowds:
unruly crowds can provide...
  i was even asked by one of the managers to
not "drool" with a sombre expression on my face...
with my eyes i told him to *******...
maybe it has no consequence for a people
lifted from the squalor of western Africa
now living their dreams in the Caribbean...
but **** me... some of these places were
not colonies: they were obliged to be: protectorate(s)...
they were under the obligation of the British
Empire to continue their ways:
they weren't colonies... they didn't have
a colony status: they had a protected status...

who was robbed? Africans sold African into slavery...
the chief of X-tribe realised: wow! i have too many young,
strong, retards in my tribe...
i want this amount of women in my harem...
might as well catch them and sell them off!
it's not like the Africans ended up doing the Slavic-******
jobs of coalmining...
seems rather glamorous: moving from cotton-picking
to playing basketball / inventing jazz as a breakaway
from classical music straitjackets...

bemoan my hernia when i was born: i will:
but not this... funny that... all those first prized black
supremacists bemoaned: the **** of our women!
the **** of our women!
i've seen how certain black women raise their kids:
it's ******* ugly... why black men fall back on white
women... me too (#): black men have nice features...
i'm not surprised why white girls fall for black men...
i have no issue:

but there's a "Russian" in me that will not be cucked...
so if white girls find black men so attractive...
am i? supposed to follow suite?! i.e. find black
girls attractive?! i... SIMPLY ******* CAN'T!
at work we were queuing up and i was just slightly
brushing up against this black woman ahead of me:
i was being bushed from the back...
she had so much defensive armour about her
i felt like a Saracen archer talking to a Frankish knight...

me?! touching you?!
god forbid i ever touch you! i don't want to touch you!
i hope you don't touch me?!
how am i touching you?! i showed her the distance
between our bodies and exposed both hands
holding ****...
i don't give a ****'s two uncle's spare of white
girls "breaking boundaries" of crafting the second
non-Hispanic "Brazil":
as long as they're not Russian girls:

this is going to be an anti-racist statement...
i feel gladdened seeing a black man with a black woman
having black babies...
why is this an anti-racist statement?
because it doesn't force the RACISM of INTERRACIALISM...
of blurring the whole origin and perpetuation
of race to begin with...
sure... white girls can have a thing for black guys...
but as a white guy... i don't have a "thing" for
black girls...
Turkish? Iranian? Arabic in general?

anything with raven hair and olive skin...
once in a while i pass the passage from Ilford to
Stratford... some Pakistani simpleton feels this
dire desire to spit on the pavement...
******* toad of a creature: hopefully not insulting
the toad: the "conqueror": what a necessary belitteling
of a man... i do understand cyclists harking
spit when becoming exhausted:
but for the simple circumstance of a ****- seeing
a white man "invade" his cultural membrane whittle
"Mecca": it's like rereading Dostoyevsky's Notes
from the Underground in reverse...
little people: little things...
              
              little concerns for me to begin with...

between the dictate of segregation:
all the Pakistanis occupy the lands between the A406
from Ilford through to Stratford...
Tower Hamlets...
all the "better" Indian subcontinent folk moved
to the outer regions of urbanisation...
from Ilford all the way through to Romford
we have the Sikhs and the Hindus...
at work? i'm a minority white boyo...
ha ha... "talk" of minority status:
who the **** ever said i'm English?!
perhaps in Chelmsford: but even there
i would have been asked about my "accent":
and i would probably reply like that one comedian
at the Edinburgh comedy club: you maybe have noticed
that i have an accent... yes:
it's ED-U-CAY-TED... educated...

it's a generic accent: standard English:
not localised English...
i can become a mean: pompous *******
when i hear enough pompous ******* *******
from people who "think" they are worth more than me
without any basis for receiving the required
credit in making: said assumptions...

rancid Berlin!

only one's missing: the one with glasses...
afer her: i will have ****** the whole brothel...
and still i'm not satisfied!
i'll need to find a new brothel!
**** me: that was, slightly, unexpected!

the queen is dead! long live the king!
i have no time for pardons...
the wilting flowers is ever a prescription for
spotting a wilt of tree (a),

i don't remember how i went to sleep last night,
i remember going home, catching the 103 bus
from North St. at around... maybe 11pm...
i remember opening my drawer
of my writing desk...
sniffing the marijuana and thinking whether
i should smoke it...

but i don't remember where i put my trousers:
or for that matter how i hanged them...
i don't remember how i took off my shirt
and how i took of my socks or my underwear:
where i put my shoes...
i don't remember... there's this black hole
concerning all these minor details:
all i know is that when i woke up this morning:
nothing was missing...

mind you: two days ago i tried to go to bed
early... i had to wake up at 4am yesterday
for a 7am shift start at Charing Cross Station...
ol' Lizzie was being moved from Buckingham
Palace to a hall in Westminster...
lucky for that i was supervising 8 stewards:
well... 4 stewards and 4 SIA licensed badge
owners...
they gave me the role of supervisor
based on my performance prior: nothing to do
with any qualifications: no NVQ level 3 required
of me whenever i'm needed to fill these shoes...

Charing Cross Station was our castle...
i was on the forefront of the whole affair...
at one point i had several police officers under
my obligation to direct the traffic of people:
we only had one guy jump the gates...
one... and we're talking Wednesday...
not the actual state funeral that's going to take
place on Monday...
30 crowned heads of state: **** me: imagine
how many will come from the republics...

it's not your everyday occasion: i know it "feels" stupid:
but there's a reason why Charing Cross St.
was managed in the way it was...
the crowd couldn't enter Villiers' St. just by
Charing Cross St. on a whim:
all the "window-lickers" could: obviously:
they were hindered... by their lost accessibility
practices of the two peddles of feet...
directing them to Adam Street just off Nero Cafe...
yes... round round... just an extra mile...

oi! mate! stop being so rude! you're the supervisor!
does that make me a *******, saint, mate?!
this is ******* stupid!
just walk round: loose 4 grams of your fat!
******* plebs, turnips! beetroots!
i wouldn't say donkeys... but i can insult
a vegetable, comparing the intellect of those:
self-serving habitual ***** of solipsism!
the queen is dead yet you're still acting like spoilt
brats!
mourning my ***!

at least we now know that one of the supposed
horsemen of the Apocalypse isn't actually a horseman...
death rides on a donkey...
or if it's not riding on a donkey it's walking its horse:
death either rides a donkey or is walking beside
its horse...
all these people: a fountain of youth will drown them:
while the tide of mortality will swallow them...

there is always a reason for something being
arranged when it comes to controlling crowds...
i don't need qualifications to know that:
the best way to keep morale is to approach
supervision with a hands off approach...
i had two fellow female supervisors working with me...
on the spreadsheets given:
let me tell you: there wasn't enough speadsheet
space for them to write comments...
and they wrote: ******* Charlotte Brontë snippets
of comments: oh this guy took 10 minutes more
on his break... blah blah this... blah blah that...
*****-"bosses"...
but did they keep morale? did they upkeep
respect?

of course they didn't traction respect:
they were too busy being busy bodies:
they warped the hierarchy...
me? when i was filling out the spreadsheet
for those "under" me?
they wrote paragraphs... me?
i just wrote: good, good, excellent,
   good, good, o.k., o.k., excellent...
i later started talking to the two guys who
i submitted as "o.k."... scribble the o.k. out
and put them down as good...
why? they "enlightened" me concerning
the difference between how the Portuguese speak
and how the Brazilians speak...
even though one was Bangladeshi / Sri Lankan...

the Brazilians sing... they elongate their speech...
blah blah this... blah blah that...
breaks? whenever you feel like it...
blah blah this... blah blah that...
i wasn't standing behind them as some sort
of authority... just because i had a different
coloured bib to them...
i was manning the ******* barrier along with them...
as a man should do...
but obviously women have this hierarchical
fixation whereby they think: comes centralised:
from the top to the bottom...
no... aha ha ha! authority comes from
the bottom up!
you make everyone feel equal: not everyone is:
but if you can make everyone equal...
you showcase what you're supposed to do: by actually
doing it... rather than simply telling them
what to do... guess what?! they'll do it!

why? because you're also doing it!
people remind me of when i used to ride horses...
relaxing the reins and gently strutting...
straining the reins when galloping...
hell... if i managed to get a few Greater Manchester
police officers under my umbrella of
"authority" just because i had the word
"supervisor" on my bib and it was
a different colour: i don't take the role i'm elevated
to all that seriously:
it's a bit of a *****... i have to be "there" early...

but leave women in the role of supervisor?
you'll get disorder in the ranks...
they take it too seriously: it's not the army...
one guy had his umbrella confiscated...
i comforted him: you won't be needing it today...
yes, you will get it back at the end of the shift...

i remember the first time a woman said to her child:
mind the man, girl... was it my height, my beard,
or my age that prompted: MAN?
i was also gob-struck-mute when one of the stewards
addresses me as: SIR...
the first time he uttered the word in my direction:
sir... X(blah blah)... huh?! i'm a sir now?!

the second time he rephrased himself...
Sir... so what do i call you? Sir or...
mate mate... just call me Matthew... and your umbrella
is just fine and dandy...

from experience: it's usually a female supervisor:
a role that should never be given...
it's basically a cull-call...
some variation of the abortion right of who
ought to be employed-living
or dead-unemployed... women are *******
savage when given the wrong sort of authority!
March of the Little Hitlers...
what was my summary of the people working under
me? good good, excellent, good good, o.k. o.k.:
which i later scribbled out into good
when we were talking about the Portuguese language...
i hate women in a hierarchy:
they're power-trapped: strapped to a level
of competence they exact too much authority over
people that need to be reeled into a comfort zone
of respecting you detailing to them:
you have no basis for authority:

aren't you supposed to learn from the best?
who just died?! didn't she... confront this metaphysical
conundrum with a master plan of expertise?!
of course she ******* did!
women aren't leaders...
Joan of Arc... an exception...
Boudica... an exception... hardly Helen of Troy...
i can't... maybe i'm wearing a ****** on
my head... or maybe some aeroplane "plastic"
of aluminium... sorry... sorry girl...
i'm... quick to forget.. what was the plan?
me? being cucked?! in favour of your pencil-neck
am ambitions?!

**** me: you send one more of these security staff back
home because they're: "not up to your standards":
you'll have a crew of about : 2!
women are: "supposedly" expected to work with
children... to be honest? i wouldn't leave
a woman alone with a child of mine even
if someone paid me!
i don't know where these FREAKS come from!
they already branded themselves with tattoos...
nearer to a HOG than a BABE...
they're not communists... not Slavic communists...
not economic minded people:
they are ideologue  numb-skulls and half-wit
sort of retaining ******* remnants of a remaining
masculinity... basically the SOYO BOYO BUILD UP...

i still have to write... why: i don't remember how i sent to sleep
last night...

women can't control men...
  they're too: CONTROL FREAKS...
men don't respect women in power...
women respect men in charge of men...
and who is respected: as a "man of power":
a man who is akin to his fellow man...
man for the like of man...
women... don't understand this!
while women are selfish: men are selfless....

i don't remember how i went to sleep last night,

it's the best suffocating *** i ever had....
***** bit me! ***** BIT me
she sq: nibbled on me!

i don't remember ever being nibbled on!
i could slap a girl's ***...
but? being bitten!?!

    sq? she: sq? what the hell does that mean?
well... i guess the whole Kama Sutra is coming to
a realisation... she likes her *** getting slapped
during *******... and thighs...
she slaps me back...
      i gently bite her chin... she bites back:
with such ferocity that i think i'm ******* either
a vampire or a leech...

mind you: i did manage to pet a cat on my
cider walkabout before entering the brothel...
sitting on a brick wall... the ****** purred
and as i extended my hand: maybe it was
the smell of tobacco or whatever it was...
he hissed and started biting me...
then we played a game of "paws":
i tried to tease it while he struck me...
hmm... now it makes sense...

it's all geographically sound: like the butterfly
at X and a tornado at Y...
chaos theory... nothing makes sense yet
at the same time: everything makes sense:
if you're aware enough...

just like my idea concerning...
if there's an equation akin to:
   E = MC²

                 if there's the speed of light squared:
then there must be an equation with
the speed of light, CUBED, i.e. C³...
                    if we're not talking energy...
if we're not talking mass...
we must be talking about an equation with
the speed of light cubed and... gravity...
i still don't understand why the speed of light
has to be squared... but it has to be...
but surely there has to be some sense of the speed
of light cubed: contained as it is within
the form of the sun...
there has to be some cubic stability to its speed:
something akin to it being contained by
way of it being uncontained...
the principle of synonym-antonym follows suit:

red is also crimson is also a hue very much pink...

hmm: come to think of it... i like being bitten...
i don't think i've ever seen a pornographic flick
where either actor bit another...
obviously i tried to avoid all the Western: STALE
kinks of hierarchical brutalism...
come to think of it? no... i don't think i have:
have? i haven't seen a pornographic flick
where people bite each other during *******:
like dogs during play...
it wasn't biting: biting... it was a sexed-up
antithesis of eating...

as some say: man is a political animal,
or man is a social creature...
                   me? i'm just the next fathomable outlier
that's sexed up and getting it and wanting
even more...

because you can't just have one love interest...
since at that point: what some deem as love:
others start deeming it sport...
no wonder i have such a narrow scope
of interests... all have to come back to: women...

**** me... she's pushing it... but she's pushing
it in the right sort of direction:
i don't remember the last time i had
unprotected *** with a woman:
esp. a *******...
she changed her number... she gave me her new number...
the first picture she sent me was showcasing
her ***... pretending to wear heels...
i.e. on her tip-toes...
wearing this glorious lingerie: red...
her skin tone doesn't match up well with red...
i was thinking: pale green... pale blue...

when i'm with her i think: oh **** these western,
Anglican prunes of women!
they're there for thirsty Muslim women to
****: i don't do timid: i don't do shy
(forced tautology)...
i need experience... i need sorrow...
play that timid game long enough
you'll probably be sitting opposite me on the tube
starting to pretend to be a drummer:
with a fidgety tapping of the leg...
like this one beauty: and i mean: she was a beauty...
features unlike most Spanish girl...
she looked gorgeous without make-up...
but she was showcasing her locked screen of
her phone: with make-up... i knew it right
there and then: but i was half asleep coming
back from a shift: i was in a *******-mood
not in a romantic mood...

she had that classical beauty about her...
enlarged eyelids... but enlarged eyelids
and the perfect proportion of them being enlarged
between the distance between her eyes and
eyebrows was pleasing to my eyes...
tangled hair... and that Sumerian tangle
of side-burns: pushing her into a category of
a woman from the Raj: the highest caste...
mar-ve-lous... it's a new sport for me...

watching out for nervous women: lip-reading...
some men turn to trainspotting...
me? i turned to... ******-spotting:
i'm oh so curious to see at what point
a woman's sexuality wakes up...
when she realises that she has potency and legality
to attract the opposite ***...
mind you: i did start ******* prematurely:
aged 8... i was even so bold as to teach
one proselyte circumcised **** to *******
with me... in the bath... while my mother was
ironing a shirt...

squeamish? me? no no...
it's still only 11:30 in the morning
and i've already put on the washing...
done the stewarding chores of the household
(mum has arthritis...
i'm a stauch propagator of Japanese
*** culture... if not a brothel? then?
a love hotel... simple)

Khadra, Khedra... Khedija robbed me that one
night...
this one's birthday... that one's birthday...
this one's name day... that one's name day...
keeping up with a harem is not exactly "fun":
well, it is...
if you can keep a hard-on...
during ******* and in between biting me
she inquired: why haven't you ******* yet...
being self-conscious (from time to time)
i tried to figure out the "plumbing":
oh... you know why?
i pulled out... went over to the sink...
turned on the water... waited for the hard-on
to disappear: one "artery" is clogging another
"artery": a man breathes through the same
hole he eats from...

a man propagates from the same hole he ******
from... i turned on the water... waited
for the hard-on to *******...
water, water: everywhere: but not a drop
to drink...
ah... i squeezed out the bothersome ****
that dissuaded me from climaxing from
a "lost uncle" of a "long lost muscle" of tease...
but that's the thing about the right
sort of woman...
you do turn into a Duracel Bunny...
it's switch ON / switch OFF...

i remember times when i was completely undermined
by women: thinking i had an ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION...
apparently not... the wrong sort of women
give me erectile dysfunction: i'm not willing to correct
that "problem" with any chemical cocktail of
"improvement": ******: at least they're not shy:
they know what they're doing...
at least they know that emotional investments comes:
post-scriptum, not: pre-scriptum...

how do i know? i paid her for half an hour...
she notices i have more money in my wallet...
she sieves through the extra £60 on me...
takes out a £20... half an hour turns into an hour:
or so it feels... feels is better than what's actually
apparent... she tells me her birthday is on Saturday:

buy me a present! o.k.: what the ****?!
ring?! no no... that's *******... book?! i gave her
a copy of my poems... what then? what then?!
Matthew? didn't she send you a copy of her standing
with her *** showcased and her legs...
her arms seemingly tied her raven hair across
her back?                Matthew?      genius!
lingerie! i'll buy her something **** to then
**** her in!

right... Matthew? what?!
did you notice that when you last saw her...
her bra was too big for her *****?
yes, i did...
do i buy her a lingerie in secret or do i ask
for her measurements... gamble...
**** it: i'll ask for her measurements...

- what is your lingerie size, bra? too big?
i want to go shopping for you
tell me, so i know.
- M
    36B 85
      You tek M better...

i don't remember the last time i went shopping
for lingerie... she's not 36B... no chance in hell...
she has petite *******...
my hand is half full when i grasp them...
she stands... while i kiss her forehead...
eye-sight in line with my *******...
but that's what's so glorious...
she's Turkish... and i'm...
if it wasn't for the Northern Crusades:
the Polacks defending the last remnant of paganism
of Lithuania against the Pig-Crux...
i would be nothing without a history
i have the luxury to explore...

Casimir the Great invited the Hebrews...
who was that Schtad-Mein-Feuer
in command of Auschwitz played by X
who uttered the same words?
maybe it was an exalted plan to excuse the Hebrews
from Europe... surely the "invitation"
of Muslims into Europe will be painful at first...
but perhaps it will: less so...
hell: i'm already in favour of ******* Muslim
women...
even unto Khedra i uttered my favorite saying:
bound to Rumi:

la illaha il allah...

   as anyone living on Malta what the noun
for god is... all will utter the noun: allah...
all? ah! what a sigh of relief!

monotheism is one massive cesspool of globalism
to begin and end with...
it's a massive joke on the people:
the prophecy of the resurgent tower of Babel...
the language is already in place: English...
but the good news is...
at least we'll have a second "chance":
it's not really a chance... it's a waiting game...
i'm telling you: the cull is going to be massive...
it's already in our unconscious: collective:
which is why you see it in the popular culture:
**** always floats to the top...

globalism one way or the other...
after all: dinosaur juice is not as infinite as the sun...
there's philosophy and there's pessimism...
philosophy doesn't look too far ahead
to be unrealistic... stupendously slow
on revising itself: there's no pin-point of "departure"
in philosophy: there's only the "game"
of the build-up... philosophy is preparation...
it's akin to cooking in that:
cooking is everything that is...
the technicalities...
while philosophy is: how much ingredients
are needed, what is the process of preparing a meal?

if anyone should accuse me of being pompous?
i'll start writing about ******* ******!
****'s sake!
even my mother, once upon a time,
called me an: intelligent, BEAST...
and i am just that!
i know what i am!
           when i was ******* Khedra she uttered
innumerable blasphemies...
i was little **** at one point... then slow at another...
she wanted to cuddle: complained that
i showered myself with cold water...
she called me mad... she couldn't stop looking
into my eyes... and i into hers...
brown for green: sold!
   biting: my god... i'm starting to love the biting...
tongue licking lips...
still those eyes: and the way she uttered:
*******... yeah: you are, ******* me...
or is that the other way round?!

at least we, i hope "we" didn't take it personally...
then again... she did send me a picture
of her and her daughter...
she's asking me for a present:
i chose lingerie... because i want to **** her
when she looks all the more sexed up (****)
but then she sends me pictures of her and her daughter:
so what? you want me to foster this Frankenstein?
gladly!
              why? oh you know why...
just read Marquis de Sade's magnum opus of a novella
that's ******...
i'm not that stupid to know what urges
motivate my virility and lust for life...
it's always the forbidden "things" that give man
the purpose for life: and that purpose is bound
to those forbidden "things" and the ability to restrain
their realisation!

it's the restraint on realising taboos:
taboos that come into fruition are... rotten...
but? restrained taboos? that rot the mind,
or rather: exfoliate the mind into bloom?
my god! the temple of the gods!
the eyes of Oedipus! right there! on the altar!
everything entertained by the mind
is sacred: even if extended on the privy
within the confines of script...
sacred upon the moment it is made
sacrilege and exacted against the mind's
entertainment: whereby the cognitive restrains
are bypassed: and said taboo is exacted...

we all want healthy ***...
impersonal ***... *** that money best allows...
transactional ***... clarity ***...
but this is one ******* level up:
she's asking for gifts... she's getting emotionally attached...
i'm starting to think about finding a new brothel...
all those pictures she's sending me
of her and her daughter: yes... man missing...
she's even showing me pictures of a house
she's doing up in Turkey...
she needs £180,000 and then she'll be happy...

i do have a certain banknote... well... several...
that could be worth just as much: if not more...
Tsar Nicholas II is a familiar face in a painting, no?
but on a banknote?!
by now ****** or no ****** doesn't bother me...
a ******* with a beautiful girl like her's?
it would be much more easier to foster a girl
of a single mum than it would to foster
a boy with a single mum:

oh! no ******* way! single mum with an only child
boy?! THAT'S ******* DEMISE!
that's not happening! that's Oedipus!
that's patricide! that's infanticide!
i'd want to **** the mother as much as i'd want
to **** her pup!
a single mum with a daughter i could handle:
it works just fine... Ancient Rome gave us lessons
about the abnormality of fostering *******:
fostering sons never works out "just fine"...

- it's like with this one record i recently found:
HASLINGER - FUTURE PRIMITIVE
a rare glimpse into 1990's culture...
from 1994...
rarely do you get anyone bold enough
to say: **** is ****... all those muddled waters
of fiction... and crisp-crass methodoligcal
poetic: hiding behind ******* RHYMES
and structures...
never anything worth talking over: or for that
matter: talking into...

there are about five fingers on each of my hand:
no, there actually are... ****...
WONG FACTION, i.e. wrong fraction...
too much TAOISM in me...
first i'll cycle to recycle the empty
whiskey bottles... then i'll cycle to
peep at some vinyls: will i find the "one"
i want? probably not... then i'll walk into Anne
Summers and pretend to be all shy
all paedophilic choosing out the bra
and *******: suspenders...
does the nylon come free?

   i'll play a game... i like: gay-mmmm's...
god:
i don't care for those insufferable wastes
of men thirsting at the fountain of ****!
i'm having my fill, i don't care
whether my writing is elevated from
the sewers into the mainstream:
my writing is merely an accompaniment
to the life i'm living...
and i love my life more than i could
ever love my writing...
after all:

res cogitans "vs." res extensa...
i write by extension:
not by thinking...
i never think about what i'm about to write:
writing is as extension of me
elaborating twiddling with my fingers:
i really have itchy finger-tips...
i sometimes express that by rubbing them
on coarse items akin to bricks:
before moving them to the oyster flesh
of a woman's body... tenderising them...

yeah: and i know what EUTHENASIA
is... when i get too old: and less useful...
i do know where the "fire exit" is... plonker...
you know where assisted suicide is?
or are you too ******* frightful?!
death is my ****** ******!

mind you: who the **** dubbed the likes
of X X X X and me?
hellraisers?! we were simply workaholic-alcoholics...
we liked to drink, we HAD to work...
******* women was a bountiful: BONUS...
the eager ones... we left the "virgins"
to the beta males...
i get the itch whenever i think about
all those celestial nuns in their stupendous
salvaging of virginity:
each one and every one waiting to be greeting
a "****** birth" of a "god": b'ah b'ah bad:
it's probably more true that Hey-Zeus was
Jesus-ibn-Snow / *******!

i lost my "faith"... a long time ago...
from the explosion of the Atom Bomb
and the unearthing of the Nag Hammadi Library
and the accounts of the Hebrew historian:
Josephus ibn Mattheus...
the FALSE PROPHET FROM EGYPT...
north America can falsify a lie...
i don't care... i'm more interested
in upkeeping the decency of Russia...
and what remains of Europe.

                     nope... i'm lost on the concept
of conversion... Islam seems more politically viable
to make choice: on... than... this: pseudo-polytheistic
sputnik of a plethora of doubt:
faith: i' will sooner **** on the cross than be bound to:
what?! pray before the image of torture!
you're no god! you're simply a sadist!

this god didn't deserve a death!
this god didn't deserve a, life!
******* Moloch Spawn!

alt title: nox! νύχτα! noc (nychta)! / gwnaeth nhw anghofio

four days on antibiotics because of a tooth-ache...
more like a gum throbbing...
a nerve ending shouting session...
and what did i learn?
i love being sober as much as i like drinking...
i don't think being drunk is even invoked...
it misses me, "somehow"...
the "well not really"... i find that to be drunk,
proper, you also need a side-dish
of a stimulating conversation,
as done per solo: well... to the gallows of stupor
with you!
beside that... today marked the day
when i remembered what a bee sting feels like...
the first time it was me laying mud on
top of this helpless bee... kneeling
in the mud... getting stung...
today... this little zeppelin ******
fell off a tree and into my hair...
while attempting to brush it off
i gained a signature of its needle
and a little bit of its ***...
the part where it dies from taking a fatal shot
at: please, someone... comb my hair!
acute pain is more than whatever is on
offer in the hallucinogenic realm of things...
mushy-fungus-hitchhiker:
ride i am not...
acute pain sharpens reality and "reality"...
take me, 4 days sober... now i'm having
a formidable sessions...
i'll get to what's bothering me in a second...
i'm almost happy to say that i'm drinking
to shake off all the clove-buds and other
anaesthetics that numbed me comfy...
but a whiskey in the morning...
even if you're going to do all the chores
in the garden...
let's face it... there's no good mood of chore
even if you spike it with drink...
some people don't relax when writing...
some people constrict themselves and out pops
out the **** of fiction and fantasy...
i tried watching t.v. this evening...
i never bother to turn on the radio...
i'm my own d.j. plus that thing the wind
was doing with that eucalyptus in my garden...
the thing the clouds were doing...
i think that's plenty of fire while
the t.v. can die... on a Friday...
i once asked for a sabbath for journalism...
even though the Sunday edition with its news review
is probably the best day... so a journalistic sabbath
would be a Monday...
t.v. can ******* on Friday...
i do adore being sober as much as i love drinking...
after all...
from 118kg down to 101.8kg...
i can already feel the sunken cheeks of slimming...
i even started to admire myself
in glass while watering the fruit trees in my garden...
i'd swear that i grew a beard to
make a second emphasis of contortions on my face...
**** on me! here are the first!
of the world... buzz-words...
hypergamy... blah blah...
   *****-donations...
   ha ha... well... it certainly looks like...
no sooner rather than not ever...
we'll be ******* our third cousins... for sure...
well... if you think about it...
a whole lot of women...
going for... a whole lot of *****...
from one man...
    isn't that... ahem... complicated?
         unless he's a magician, a psychiatrists
and a tree surgeon...
i see! melodramatic o fortuna type feel:
if all these women...
   are being impregnated by this one...
bank account...
  that's all he is... a yellow walrus...
what are the chances of... 2nd generation ******?!
2nd, 3rd... sure sure... back in the old testament
days... same father... two "opposing" mothers...
no complications...
just, that, *******, riddle... of... forehead...
against... a... brick... wall... to... curb...
demands... for... original... thinking!
just saying... happy to be drinking...
shivers and shakes and demonic faces of hallucination
come 2am... oh... and dreams...
bogus... dreams... nonsensical dreams...
dreams on a whim for Eloise to ****...
to midnight!
i have a new drinking salute...
   nox! nychta!
                 oíche!
             so we are, aren't we... certain...
of... best for "moi" but not when another
"moi" best of... come together
in a slobbering case of gene pool fog...
cousin-some-share... that imbecile father...
well... here's me not dreaming
of any other dream-gene-pool...
i'm a walking abortion, don't you know?
i just came late... much later than expected...
expected the golden horde to allow the same
freedoms...
in the old days... the chains of the mistake
of that one night stand...
i can see it now...
it would be impossible to be chained
to the next come next sheered ****** the better
mechanised no better than deus ex machina:
i.e. **** in machina...
the bus-driver... the ******* plumber...
i surf with words...
i don't hold... lend me a sociopath and a brothel
and we'll have us a jolly good night...
i have about £140 quid for the occassion
and two litres of whiskey to get us through...
well... me my shadow and a cat i'll call...
mr. bowler...
because girls in yorkshire are disappearing...
and that's old news...
i see boys disappear all the time...
hardly teased by sweets and bad parenting
tantrum traps...
what came from barbie and what
came from g.i. joe... certainly not fans
for chess or su doku...
sorry but if the police are not willing to do...
anything... what the **** am?
a slave herder?
their father?
a "concerned civilian"?
                   i haven't been ****** for free in well
over a decade...
coming to 15 years...
   i'll let this one black girl off because
she had a skinny ***
and my ex was friends with her
and she slept over and i gave have a few
k.o. cocktails and... we matched...
on that karma sutra scale of...
i assure you... no elephant ****** a bunny...
as a tease of prep for childbirth...
could have had a cesaerian...
            paid... the napkin... paid...
the magic... what carpet? probably paid...
oh... it's sobering, proper sobering to pay...
notably: ******...
a ship might sink... but that fat-flat-skim-reading
of skin will never fade from my memory...
i'm sure my lips were leeches and i had
her eyelids... with the mascara itched onto them
i write this...
to-ast!
          night! nox! nychta!
                       i have no heart to either write
or drink during the day...
give me the day and the clear dichotomy
of the body and the mind...
i want to be drunk of the exercise of the body
to calm the mind...
but i also want to be drunk on the mind
to not exercise the body...
for me there is no mind-body dualism...
there are punctuation points that favour
a mind-body dichotomy than a dualism...
like...

writing is an extension of thinking...
it's not an invitation to waggle your tongue...
but of course... i'm proud of my students
who only recently were illiterate and are more
than eager to speak aloud what they can read...
rather than "think" it...

to excess!

why would i "believe" to be a molusk...
brain-and-bondy-entwined?
this sponge of a... pickled... brain?
bound to a duality...
clearly defined rubrics...
if numbers are things...
words are beings...
and that genesis of numbers: nothing!

singen! singen! doof schweinschnauze!
who ever said we'd need those
72 virgins underestimated our
need for...
       ahem... siebzig-zwei...
      rottweilers! arithmetic that against the 3
gratis eins of cerberus... blah...
it's no fun drinking when...
well... your excesses are not mine...
st. augustine... a cololoquy?
           ah ha ha... a soliloquy...
colloquial is akin to: n'est c'est pas?

          shh... me my, moral: ought-i narrative...
project zero... Munich: munching:
tripping at fahrenheit gizmo degree 106...

did "we" invite anyone to make this
a spectacle of teasing only-fans stature?
how can you ***** words?
put them to the test of graffiti?
is that it?
sell them cheap... make some counterfeit
robo-jungle-jingle work
the shorteing... already short...
missed the mark...
excuse the farmers...
you savvy with the tractor?
the Romanian strawberry pickers?
how about the the concept of a seasonal diet?
i don't really need strawberries
in winter...
i don't actually mind... no strawberries at all...

i'm here... whatever freedom might be
allowed for me in the land of
the freed Polacks strangulated by the powers
at be that were: in the 20th century
in the variant of the Russian...
Soviet... Prussian...
****... ends up with the Belgian
chocolate... kite-runners... typos...

not 'un of their F-F-F-F-ANG...
LE
however the ******* vont or...
want...
because you don't you toy
with words that "they" might like...
they have a cat that suddenly expressed a:
*******...
while i have a cat tidying up cushions
in which he and i will later sleep in...

white town: your woman...
playing pool at some end of
the hammersmitth & city tube load-off...
somehow the 1990s keep flooding back
to some: chess... innuendo...
shifting bricks... shifting bottle of ketchup...
my greatest love: shifting angry pockets
of IRA...
oh... wait...
       "gwnaeth nhw anghofio"?

like these isles were merely "conquered" on the focus
of Loon'dun and Birmingham alone...
oops the mosque of celts up north...
i'm just heightening: hibernating my expectations...
the Welsh and the Cornish...
my tribe my no tribe...
every time i might be reminded...
that i'm not a ******...
or part of some greater idea of "nation"
that's a diaspora of ******...
i'll sooner disappear into the 'indu *******...
marry a healthy second slur of Vishnu...

bogus: i see these brown-beaters i'm a *******
copperneck myself...
i will never be allowed to go back... "home"...
thanks for the integration play...
hybrid "lost soul"...
since English is so integral in all of things...
plum... pecker...
*****... screwdriver... nail...
hammer.. solipsism...
                to amount to n identity in English is...
so myopic... forget the tenderness of Linguo-Empire
froth.. bothered... full-stop...
the mythological blonde and her mythological
ape-short-cut elephant tusk: cuck-eye...
hello! me... (sign language interlude):
B... O... W...
       O... U... T...
              forget the braille and morse...
oh... wait... you were waiting for the cuck daddy...
but... if the cuck daddy is not ready to reproduce the
cucked baby girl... daddy's girl...
a generational pardon...
i'm not ready to reproduce:
        brick black block stwong dwyck...

oh i'm pretty sure:
one of those: pic. perfect pictures... please!
i'll die sooner than be found around
one also gagging:
having to appease
a Zulu hard-on...
like i "said"...
70,000 walking ******
on the lips of Libya...

              the envious green, eye?
the all-seeing... green tumult?
have them... i'm "dying"...
let them rot in gloat of
being rabbit **** finding out
about a camel phallus...
because... that's... how... it... works...
TOOL, FOR THE IVIORY LADY...
now i get to exercise a freedom
of tongue freed from lap...
rap or "just arrived"...
scrutiny of literacy...

           it's not like the Hebrews were ever going
to be celebrated for their physicality...
the ***** was...
thank you... for taking take of spunge-nik...
mythological blonde...
thank you... piston... tool...
           because your egoism had to pay of...
wouldn't it?
if all you have... to trace pride worth with...
******* worship...
based on size...
you know... the ancient greeks found
a large phallus a demeaning meaning in:
it's barbaric...
a bit like a shallow ****...
might also fit the criteria...

               have "them" their ******* interracial
bonanzas...
please let them have it...
let them feel morally superior...
give them a generation or two...
"we'll"... start... the bleaching process... ha!
the EURASIA monstrosity is...
heave! who's Arican?
the angwy west kind?

      german assimilate sort?
i always found the darker skinned Kenyans
best beyond having to tame... blisters...

but my parallel universe father-in-law
could be a summary of
paul young's love of the common people
and...
      the kinks... living on the thin line...
my parallel universe...
that's before... love come's first:
thirst... and lobotomy me tow two blue too...

give me a ******* bicycle!
i would most likely most clearly most
want to generate my own momentum...
than have to heave a hoof to tow too!
but i ****** your elder daughter while
my eyes turned me into a ******...
i: epitaph...
   supposedly living "since"...
give us scrutiny... enough lager...

                                 i laugh naked into the night...
it's supposedly cloudy... isn't... tell me...
it isn't?!
of those summers... of those springs...
i could tell you the no. of freckles...
no i couldn't... but i could tell you...
that bomb great bomb of flavour that's
a black cardamom in a...

          **** me... if the antithesis counterpart
of moi can **** a black boyo...
like... readily like... there's rat poison:
like there's a need for propaganda like there's
a need for insomnia hard-ons...
good for her: m'ah n'ah'm'eh izzzz...
fowel: fow'est...       GYMP...
            forest trail...
             you kept bizzy.. no?
so...
          she's busy... and when she won't be
busy she'll be burying herself
in ****** spermbanks...

as free as a southernfairy:
not being a southernfairy ever might...
you... friggin'... ******* future of moon-key!
i said:            quoth      bwy?!

i'm having this... Milan Kundera moment...
what other Czech writer do i have in my library?
Miroslav Holub: a truly great poet...
my mother's maiden name is: Batuk...
which is probably Czech...
            often confused by my "fellow" countrymen
as Batóg...
      i'm listening to Heilung's Norupo....
                      i'm writing in English...
      the tongue of commerce and idea-fluidity...
but i'm having this Milan Kundera moment...
       it was at the London Stadium overseeing
the ingress of the crowd for the Monster Jam (monster
truck) event that i overheard the minority tongue
being spoken: by a father to a son...
******... i was almost tempted to say:
miłego spektaklu:
     have a pleasant time seeing the spectacle...
two words vs. seven...
              English is so imperfect...
you only need to hear the natives speak so profoundly
of it to realise... but i can express what i want
in just two words... while the English
have to use seven words to orientate what
they're trying to say: i don't need to orientate
what i'm going to say: i just say it...
hence? the almost complete lack of using
the pronouns in the ****** tongue...
    esp.: the iota: I...
            
            living in a multicultural society:
i'm used to it... i build up with nausea whenever
i return to the "homeland"... when i'm
swallowed up by the crowds of Warsaw...
i'm white among whites...
more so... i'm ethnically this swallowed up
by what's ethnically me...
                           i don't have a problem with race...
i'll **** anything than moves...
i prefer Romanian girls, i prefer Turkish girls...
i'd love to **** a proper Celtic ginger, though,
but they're sort of taboo in their own eyes...

point being... that *******...
it's the closest i've ever come to rekindling memories
of childhood...
it truly felt like rekindling memories
of my childhood... back in Poland...
at the twilight of the dead-end closure of
the experiment of Communism...
perhaps in the West the Germanic peoples thought
the Slavs were stupid enough to invest
their efforts in Communism...
sure... we tried it... it failed...
    since the West wasn't ravaged by either
Ottoman Turk or Mongol invasions...
this buffer zone of the continent wanted to try
something different...
              
while neutral countries like Sweden were given
American handouts after the second world war...
Poland was given a handout...
first came the Nazis... then came the Communists...
super!
          
the *******...
   one knew i was favouring the other...
*** has transformed me...
   transactional-clarity *** has...
                   i don't date...
hmm...
           i'm always turned off when someone's
talking during ***...
   alea iacta est...
                         ******* of stating the obvious:
two girls? you must feel like a king...
30 minutes later i was the same pauper poet...
but the other one knew my intentions...
she tried to avoid giving me her lips...
she gave me her cheeks... her jaw...
her collarbone... her ears... her hair...
and... her hand-job... well lubricated...

                   her eyes... her tenderness... and her eyes
that knew everything... that a massive storm
reigns on Jupiter with that eternal whirlwind
of the Eye... and she told me that without me even
needing to invent a telescope...
by simply looking at me with what became
a mutual consent and contentment of a longing...
like magnets ++
         repelled yet at the same time spontaneously
flipping into a +- dynamic...

how do i know this?
  the boisterous one... the one with duck lips...
the one that insisted on having the *******...
she was all too ready to earn the money...
her ******* did come into good use...
makeshift ******... i must have *******
right up to her chin since she retorted with
an awkward surprise... took a shower...
insisted i take a shower too...
    but the girl that was giving me a hand-job... didn't...

after i climbed out of the shower and started
dressing myself in my work clothes...
buttoning my shirt up and putting on my tie...
the loud duck-lip fake-lady of the night
was already too eager to tell me goodbye...
    but the girl i truly wanted was standing behind
me... before me: a mirror and myself...
she behind me... massaging my shoulders
and back...

                  you learn to shut up for long enough...
you learn to read eyes...
   oh those eyes...

and that memory of mine...
didn't i conjure up the idea that Darwinism is
a geocentric model... the antithesis of the Copernican
heliocentric model? does it really matter?

i can't say that memory is a fickle creature:
sure... it's eroded by education 1 + 1 = 2 etc.
but... even if my first memories are of being 4...
i do remember sitting on a stump of a tree
eating candyfloss... contemplating
the idea of: inseminating a ***** with human
*****... and the reverse... inseminating a woman
with dog *****...

    that's all before being revealed / made aware
of Mary Shelley's idea of Frankenstein...

race-mixing... Darwinism... so why is it that
a Gorilla will not breed with a Chimpanzee?
if man is all-powerful and so godly...
why not try this experiment?
       what man did with dogs... surely man
can attempt with primates...
breed Gorilla males with Chimpanzee females,
no?
        well... if it took us so long to
adapt geographically to our environment
whether via Africa or Scandinavia...
the levelling of copper-neck pseudo-north-African
throughout...
let's mix the primates...
like we mixed the canines...
       let us create some new hybrids!

i'd love to see what a mix of Gorilla and Chimpanzee
looks like...
but why is it that they do not mix inherently?
what?!
             personally i love seeing a black boy
in a romance with a black girl...
it's my new found fetish...
          as is my fetish for seeing...
perhaps: the ***** of a horse invested into
the reproductive parallel of a cow...

how else were donkeys conjured?
                    hey! hey!
                 why stop on creating dogs with
smashed snouts and breathing problems?!
seems rather cruel to not explore further...
after all... Darwinism is a geocentric model...
i don't need to explore the heliocentric
model any further... the moon has been conquered...
let's be brave!
           let's become children again!

we're mixing races... let's attempt to breed
giraffes with elephants!
          who said no?!
              how were pigs brought into existence?
a boar was given access **** to...
exactly?! what was furless and resembling
the boar?
         and the Sphynx cat?!
                        
once the theory of evolution emerged... people...
have become very... very much:
reserved... we could be creating so many new
breeds of life...
instead of simply falling back on interracial
"affairs"... that's the lazy option... copper-neck
plateaus... we'll all be quasi-Arabs one generation
then the racial diluting will overtake "our"
luvvy-dubby prejudices of "modern times"...
modern my ***...

             and i am a hypocrite in my line of argument:
which gives me "privilege" in "arguing"
this point... i say: free the reins! let nature reign!
after all, nature abhors vacuum!

natura abhorreo vacuum...

           why stop?! clearly the ancients had some
imagination and a sense of thrills
beyond the safety-nets of base-jumping...
imploding gravity...
        they "invented" the pigs...
no... they just figured... too much hassle hunting
wild boars... let's create something dependent
on us to rear it... let's breed the boar
with something resembling our nakedness...
let's tend to it...

    the Muslim antithesis of god the creator of all
things pristine... the sun and the moon
and when the mountain came to Muhammad...
yet? well... not such a pristine god if he also
prohibits ingesting something...
     bad logic... very bad bag of logic...
chances are the biggest tapeworms are to be found
inside marine creatures...
no prohibition of eating *****...
   even though ***** are scavengers...

        i say **** it... let's mix everything together...
let's have a Darwinian festival... a "pride month"
of experimenting with inter-species...
we might conjure up a second donkey...
by breeding bull ***** with a horse's ****...
i'm tired of the sensible pact:

    pax sensibilis of exploring the void... the stars...
we're not moving... to hell we're not moving!
i'm supposed to be the madman
but i'm living among bigger madmen...
i'm fuming at the mouth thinking not thinking
about how unrealistic people are becoming...
so... safe... so cushioned... so... vanilla...

and what happened to the people who tested out
Communism... after...
was it the French Revolution that prompted
the ****** from inbreeding "royalty"?
or was it the Russian revolution that made
the inbreeding ****** reconsider their power dynamic?!

let's face it... the first "world war"?
family infighting... cousin fighting uncle...
just when mother died...

nicknames and funny surnames,
i can take apart Darwin...

dar (gift) win(a) - wine / guilt...
gift of wine...
           troublesome the win(a)...
i.e. morphes into: dar winy (gift of guilt)
whereas dar wina (gift of wine)...
                      hey... tongue of playgrounds...
i'm still refreshed by a game we played
as children: hide & seek...
i'm still hiding myself from myself
and seeking myself into / within myself...
it's some ancient game some of us lucky ones
were still "promised" to be allowed to play...

unisex... boys and girls...
                not this current pseudo-Germanic
in vitro anaesthesia dynamic...
  it's sick mannequin *****-donning condoms
on your head superstition of above-average
superiority...
                            some ******* calamity of moral
agendas... of course i'm fury! of course i'm
havoc!
               why do you think the Russians
attacked the Ukrainians?! why the Polacks
allowed over a million of war-refugees into their land?!
eh?! ethnic-implosion...
  
   i might write in English... but... i'm not English...
no ******* migrant crisis from either Africa or
the Middle East is going to bother the Slavic people...
i once joked with my mother:
Polacks have this aversion to spices...
bay leaf... yep, sure sure... all-spice... yep yep, sure...
paprika... smoked paprika for the Hungarians...
horseradish... rosemary, thyme... parsley...
     dill...

listen! it's Darwinism in action! why be averted by
what's supposedly common knowledge?!
not everyone can be as post-colonial cucked
as the English bourgeoisie...
              who's kids fancy a neo-Communism...
when the old Communism: defeated...
was... pretty much a Pan-Slavic movement...
right... the bright-younglings of England and former
colonies are going to usurp a system that
breeds beached-whale-beauties...
          
   never mind that Communism was first experimented
with in Mongolia...
a sort of: thank you... for Genghis Khan genes...
me neither... i couldn't strap myself
to a single woman...
               i couldn't... i need to be vague when i ****...
elusive... not even there...
i need to love as many women in a pardon
for sometimes hating myself...

ha ha...
      what crisis?!
   where?! self-defence mechanisms kicking in...
are we truly all loved up with each other?
and what African nation ever conquered anything
outside of Africa for the "race" to be dubbed
the Orcs?!
              honestly? i've love to be a minority
living in Kenya... maybe i might be chosen
for a television advert... advertising... soap...
or... cheese...
                            
                        clearly i love the war inside my head...
it will pass as soon as i stop typing this...
i need to water the flowers in the garden...
very Voltaire of me...

                      sometimes a subject that claims the authority
over the world comes into my vicinity & consciousness...
whether by force or by authority...
or by passively lingering...
                      and i acknowledge it...
but... at the same time... this world has no
authority to claim the sanctity of my little makeshift
monastery of solitude and heightened
hypocrisy of eroticism...

   it's not longer enough to be simply "right":
or, "moral"...
               times are changing... it's no longer to
be the super-man... to be the over-man...
to overcome being human...
    times are changing... it's time to be the allesmann...
to be the all-encompassing man...
everything! the good, the ill! to look beyond
good and evil: truthfully!
                       no need to pander to the nunnery...
the fine line between contradicting oneself
and at the same time embracing onself:
conflating good with evil
   rather than making distinctions between the two!

maybe the serpent should have said:
and you will know the difference between good WITH evil
rather than... and you will know the difference
between good AND evil?!              no?!

obviously both sentences are a joke...
good is good
    and evil is evil...
               man left in a limbo of nuances and the bible
of lawyers', rhetoricians', sophists'... i.e. the thesaurus:
man writes laws: all of man's laws are subjective laws...
man uses the thesaurus...
man doesn't write objective laws: man doesn't write
the law of gravity...
man discovers the law of gravity...
man utilises a dictionary; the end.

he fatly wore the red dress
standing fatly as the  clergy
of the one true church of marxism,

most holy karla
carved, carved karla
coming for the kids

cuckold, cucked, cuck
judas pence
judas pence lives
what to do with his silver
what to do with his stagflation
fox ferried across the river
time for tomorrow
punishment for the sold soul of a nation

hope today is your first day of sorrow
hope many days of sorrow follow your first day of sorrow

i must have done what i have done in retaliation
to all this feministic *******
concerning woman's... 2nd? 3rd? ****** liberation...
like she's this ******* arbiter
of what's the norm... is it?
                   her ****-shaming...
doesn't she know the Kama Sutra dynamic
of... a hare's **** ******* an elephant's ****?!
doesn't she?! is she so ******* ****-less
and all ego-prone to be so... desire-less?!
she's like the worst sort of man...
but she's a woman... which makes it doubly worse...
no wonder no one wants to touch her...
no wonder... ab-so-lu-te-ly
now write that phonetically:
ab-sow-loo-T-lee..
                    English is funny like that...
big **** little ****...
or... little **** big ****...
   i mean: there's the Mariana Trench...
the **** of *****...
    whale eater...
            just like there's the imitation Giza
pyramid... to invert nature's availability
of comparison...
               hell... if women are going to compete...
what the **** am i going to do?
sit back... cucked?! or will i step up?
obviously i'm going to step up and find myself:
most cruel...
most... biological... most... natural...
if the sentiment of the argument goes
along the lines of...
but we're women who have had
experiences...
     we've had threesomes...
sorry... i only have two holes... you have three...
maybe you can... but i can't split
my attention... span...
i need eye-contact...
             woman's ****** liberation...
funny you should mention that...
i'm having a ****** liberation period myself...
i'm free from having to pay for things i don't
want... it's almost like regurgitating the Warsaw Pact...
odd... i don't even need Marx to conjure:
loosely associated men... free-thinking...
not giving a **** about a freedom-of-speech...
why bother giving a **** about
a freedom of speech, when...
there's the more important freedom of thought at hand?!
communism would never undermine capitalism...
the men that invented capitalism would undermine
capitalism... when it wouldn't work for them:
no... not for an advantage...
when it would simply stop working...
communism was a feminist utopia...
what's coming... it's neither either / or... it's a sort of:
oops! flimsy... i'm not buying into it...
why would i need a car... living in London?
if i own a bicycle... i don't need to buy road tax...
i don't need an m.o.t., i'm not taking any luggage anywhere...
why would i need a car?!
i don't need a girlfriend to go on a boring holiday
with to some beach resort to later:
in the meantime: pretend to shoot myself
in the head...
why would i need a woman that doesn't cook better
than me?!
why would i need a woman
that's not even close to me being pedantic about
cleaning the house?!
****'s sake... a yawn is just about as good
a company... as is a fern... or a sleeping cat;
yeah... and reality is supposed to be harsh,
that's why mountains are all rock
and not bundles of sugarcane puff pseudo-clouds...
that's why sharks have teeth
and why dogs have tails...
      and i have opinions...

sure... great... women's liberation, sexually...
i'm liberated too!
        as sure as **** i'll die alone...
but at least i won't be dying with someone nagging
in my ear... brimming with the role of LEECH
before my eyes...
                      even if the state wins...
to hell with woman and all her abhorrent
covert dictates! i'm more inclined to trust a rottweiler
to not bite me... without ill-intent...
than i'm to trust a woman kiss me with
well-intent...
                   that's how far feminism has pushed
the agenda of the sexes...
i'll **** ******...
                    the supposed "other" women...
eh... slave-owners...
                         i'm "mad" enough to envision
project Dodo through and through.

at those special moments -
when one will be finally able to stand
above the gravestone that denotes:
the first portion of the 20th century...

once "they" die off: the second world war
veterans... the holocaust primo levis...
when all pomp and ceremony
dies off...

see... i don't mind wearing these ******
masks no more...
forgetting that i'm still wearing
one...
   face mask... niqab... face mask...
niqab...
i don't mind because i always tell myself:

the moment i see the next akin
idiot to me... then the fog of bother lifts...
i was stocking up...
2 litres of ms. amber donning
a corset and i was:
like a russian "neugeld" oligrarch...
has the money:
but can't contemplate the mere idea
of "altgeld"...

    wenn unter der krähen
          (definite that! - not...
   indefinite that of die)
                 zu beste ist zu... krächzen...
   wie sie!

             oh no no no... english is only...
halb-die-gleichung:
the rest is: alt-vater englisch...
            mongrel saxon:
                              mischlingsächsisch...

what's a... i don't know...
let's ask...
        welche ist eine sächsisch
  (i guess the same rule applies...
a forgotten loss...
        aN able striptease!
    hence the ein and eine "debate")...
  
       let's ask a spitz... or a ruthenen...
about... anglo-mischling: "sächsisch"...
the great postcard baron...
the great immigrant...
wasser-eves...

             english is too constrained
to the children being allowed freedoms...
that... well: we need to feed the hyenas first...
might as well have... walking giggles in storage...
ethics comes with: 2nd thoughts...
a: "what if" scenarios...
but some people can't escape...
the bulldozer's first plough...

      like: this was expected:
without any high-brow intentions...
no... diese ist es!

well it's not like feminism was going to
come elbow-to-elbow: arm-in-arm:
cosmopolitan solidarity ******* any time soon...
the women of the world: ahem... ah ha ha: "unite"!
yeah... white knights...
and intellectual feminists...
because... a bulgarian woman is getting ******
silly...

or not... depends who's being the doubtful thomas...
secterian...
i went... she was about to play me some
cheap ******* muzak...
i kind of forgot about *******...
i grabbed her phone and put on:

perplex - toys (felguk remix)...
that didn't sink in...
            so i switched gears... hellraiser II:
hellbound - something to think about...
and yes stepheno rey can have all the books
he likes... but... unlike...
his protege... prodigy... barrel of laughs of:
waiting for output!
clive barker: the cult of music...
   no stephano rey film has...
anything near... a competing soundtrack...

who minds pinhead being a woman
on a page and a man in 3D... not me...
             so we listened to that...
and... i cucked myself into a cuddle but...
let's face it... i wasn't into it...
drinking got the better of me...
and she wasn't into it:
because the english: valkyrie of feminism
weren't coming: and she was bulgarian:
so sloppy seconds worth of:
ottoman nostalgia... etc...

        trevor something - into your heart...
and it just... i was once told that tree-hugging
a birch tree was harmonious with
the universe...
         well... starve yourself from
a body... of the yin... and you're the yang...
******* is the last of your problems...
putting on socks or underwear never feels
the same... as when... what can occupy an hour's
worth... kissing eyelids... teasing the nose...
the collar bones...

no cheap **** music...
it's enough that i wake up with a numb hand
because: that's my third tier of pillow...
but... yes... face-masks...

keeping the "hoard" at bay...
  hood... facemask... a complete niqab-ninja replica...
and then a list of excuses...
when... staging... a fictional bank-robbery...
******* hell! by the end of this "quarantine":
i'll be converted to jainism!
and i'll use a face-mask as a religious
excuse like a turban and a sikh might
when working on a construction site
when the debate crosses path with:
a safety helmet "*******"...

a spike in... jainist bank robbers:
'coz' corona & ****...
       hell... i'll find all the right excuses
to wear these men-yoroi:
after the quarantine is "over"...
      hell... out of an argument:
from "amnesia"...
        and jainism... and whatever *******
rainbow i'll be willing to pull out
of my ***: bonus - toothpick for driftwood!

when was the last time i visited a brothel?
citing these words...
my cis-genitals are tingling and...
apex... spawning-man: less the spider...
cis-trans-cis-trans: lessons in chemistry...
do i really need all that sort
of intimate 1hour flings of imitation
"planned parenthood" ploughing?
                there's that... ***** dunk into
a tissue / rubber that's also...
by the logic of the conservatives:
a genocide...
                  why yes! once it leaves
the male... and enters the female...
      there's no "transition" period:
there's no "being pregnant" - rather:
the immediacy of giving birth!
and calling it: a he and a son of sam...
and...
             well... **** it!
let's just skip to the ******* down
the drain and: genocide / abortion cocktail
the next few words...

            i guess i'll have to...
go enough times so that...
i will remember a ******* more fondly
than i could ever remember a past girlfriend...
because: at least the memories can be
concise: potent... detached from...
having invested: cheared a piece of me
(metaphysically)... while she...
gets another tattoo cipher of me having
****** her... blah blah blah....

the lore of: a monopoly on purity -
well... chance are...
a ******* will probably disclose to you
the... mystery of the incarnation
with, words, like:
i get s.t.d. checks on a regular basis...
whereas...
                        the pride and broom aspect
of the:
  if you're looking for a dangerous man...
look for... a sexualised man...
       will probably be something akin to...
the gonorrhea cess-pool of teenage angst /
the ******* ferris-wheel of...
love poems: idealistic love poems...
rhyming couplets...

          went to a brothel to touch some
elgin marbles... walked out... surprised that
some still had a breath in them...
     crustacean zenith...
                 simping and cam girl and milk
and no honey... and "connections" and...
more thrills from frying a ******* - wet -
in a live socket: spastic ******: blunt... yeah...
em... puritanical *******:
like old school views of *******:
same ****: different cover...
             with the aid of a shadow: passable...

otherwise: perhaps... the mere focus on...
water... still... water...
the clarifying soberness of an immaculate
transation...
this whole: boyfriend / hubbie...
girlfriend / wife murk of the self splintered...
the mutual tug-o'-war...
and the running joke passed on by
one glaswegian: to no other:

how was copper-wire invented...
two picts arguing over a penny on the pave'...
funny ha ha and at the same time
emotionally *******...
and competitive h'american...
hard-on blues...

aus die schwarzwald...
        
                limbozunge...
PFefferzufälligdalmatinerbombardierung:
alias?­ the blitz over london:
since... st. paul's will stand... will stand...

no... english is not enough... sometimes...
even: among the natives...
or... not so native... but there are the V'elsh...
the vild: veirder zoops...
again: alias: wolk... ****'s sake:
Dickens' 'em bride! neine gut?
more like: nei gut...

             ******* hing'leash...
some "proper": yorkshire brew and scones...
and... cringe nostalgia...
and... nostalgia of cringe...
          pwopp'eh: Ęglish... big'O' on the
boing-boing "dapper"...
'stupid and inefficient person' clothing
line... by the name of: DUFFER...

           a dandy warhol is is...
tautology... although: with no hindsight over
than: the death of warhol...
the dandy warhols: the band?
a tautological play on words: since...
no warhol: beside the significance of the surname...
the surname suggests:
gravity of worth akin / equivalent to:
da vinci...
                  unlike: warchild...
a mrs. bucket contra: mrs. bouquet...
bou-kay...
                 and there's a tau involved... in all of...
that?!

now is the right time to finish the last
tier of slug... and bow...
and bow out.